huge ice-boat, under full sail, came tearing down the canal, almost
paralyzing Ben with the thought of instant destruction. It was close
upon him! He saw its gilded prow, heard the schipper shout, felt the
great boom fairly whizz over his head, was blind, deaf and dumb all in
an instant, then opened his eyes, to find himself spinning some yards
behind its great, skate-like rudder. It had passed within an inch of his
shoulder, but he was safe! safe to see England again, safe to kiss the
dear faces that for an instant had flashed before him one by
one--father, mother, Robby and Jenny--that great boom had dashed their
images into his very soul. He knew now how much he loved them. Perhaps
this knowledge made him face complacently the scowls of those on the
canal who seemed to feel that a boy in danger was necessarily a _bad_
boy needing instant reprimand.
Lambert chided him roundly.
"I thought it was all over with you, you careless fellow! Why don't you
look where you are going? Not content with sitting on all the old
ladies' laps, you must make a Juggernaut of every ice-boat that comes
along. We shall have to hand you over to the aanspreekers yet, if you
don't look out!"
"Please don't," said Ben, with mock humility--then seeing how pale
Lambert's lips were, added in a low tone:
"I do believe I _thought_ more in that one moment, Van Mounen, than in
all the rest of my past life."
There was no reply, and, for a while, the two boys skated on in silence.
Soon a faint sound of distant bells reached their ears.
"Hark!" said Ben, "what is that?"
"The carillons," replied Lambert. "They are trying the bells in the
chapel of yonder village. Ah! Ben, you should hear the chimes of the
'New Church' at Delft; they are superb--nearly five hundred sweet-toned
bells, and one of the best carilloneurs of Holland to play upon them.
Hard work, though; they say the fellow often has to go to bed from
positive exhaustion, after his performances. You see, the bells are
attached to a kind of keyboard, something like they have on
piano-fortes; there are also a set of pedals for the feet; when a brisk
tune is going on, the player looks like a kicking frog fastened to his
seat with a skewer."
"For shame," said Ben, indignantly.
Peter had, for the present, exhausted his stock of Haarlem anecdotes,
and now, having nothing to do but to skate, he and his three companions
were hastening to "catch up" with Lambert and Ben.
"That English lad is fleet enough," said Peter; "if he were a born
Hollander he could do no better. Generally these John Bulls make but a
sorry figure on skates--Hollo! Here you are, Van Mounen; why, we hardly
hoped for the honor of meeting you again. Who were you flying from in
such haste?"
"Snails," retorted Lambert. "What kept you?"
"We have been talking--and, beside, we halted once to give Poot a chance
to rest."
"He begins to look rather worn out," said Lambert in a low voice.
Just then a beautiful ice-boat with reefed sail, and flying streamers,
swept leisurely by. Its deck was filled with children muffled up to
their chins. Looking at them from the ice you could see only smiling
little faces imbedded in bright-colored, woolen wrappings. They were
singing a chorus in honor of Saint Nicholas. The music, starting in the
discord of a hundred childish voices, floated, as it rose, into
exquisite harmony:
Friend of sailors, and of children!
Double claim have we,
As in youthful joy we're sailing,
O'er a frozen sea!
Nicholas! Saint Nicholas!
Let us sing to thee.
While through Wintry air we're rushing,
As our voices blend,
Are you near us? Do you hear us,
Nicholas, our friend?
Nicholas! Saint Nicholas!
Love can never end.
Sunny sparkles, bright before us,
Chase away the cold!
Hearts where sunny thoughts are welcome
Never can grow old--
Nicholas! Saint Nicholas!--
Never can grow old!
Pretty gift and loving lesson,
Festival and glee,
Bid us thank thee as we're sailing
O'er the frozen sea--
Nicholas! Saint Nicholas!
So we sing to thee!
XX
JACOB POOT CHANGES THE PLAN
The last note died away in the distance. Our boys, who in their vain
efforts to keep up with the boat, had felt that they were skating
backward, turned to look at one another.
"How beautiful that was!" exclaimed Van Mounen.
"Just like a dream!" said Ludwig.
Jacob drew close to Ben, giving his usual approving nod, as he spoke:
"Dat ish goot. Dat ish te pest vay--I shay petter to take to Leyden mit
a poat!"
"Take a boat!" exclaimed Ben, in dismay--"why, man, our plan was to
_skate_, not to be carried like little children----"
"Tuyfels!" retorted Jacob, "dat ish no little--no papies--to go for
poat!"
The boys laughed, but exchanged uneasy glances. It would be great fun to
jump on an ice-boat, if they had a chance; but to abandon so shamefully
their grand undertaking--Who could think of such a thing?
An animated discussion arose at once.
Captain Peter brought his party to a halt.
"Boys," said he, "it strikes me that we should consult Jacob's wishes in
this matter. He started the excursion, you know."
"Pooh!" sneered Carl, throwing a contemptuous glance at Jacob, "who's
tired? We can rest all night at Leyden."
Ludwig and Lambert looked anxious and disappointed. It was no slight
thing to lose the credit of having skated all the way from Broek to the
Hague, and back again; but both agreed that Jacob should decide the
question.
Good-natured, tired Jacob! He read the popular sentiment at a glance.
"Oh! no," he said, in Dutch. "I was joking. We will skate, of course."
The boys gave a delighted shout, and started on again with renewed
vigor--
All but Jacob. He tried his best not to seem fatigued, and, by not
saying a word, saved his breath and energy for the great business of
skating. But in vain. Before long, the stout body grew heavier and
heavier--the tottering limbs weaker and weaker. Worse than all, the
blood, anxious to get far as possible from the ice, mounted to the
puffy, good-natured cheeks, and made the roots of his thin, yellow hair
glow into a fiery red.
This kind of work is apt to summon Vertigo, of whom good Hans Andersen
writes--the same who hurls daring young hunters from the mountains, or
spins them from the sharpest heights of the glaciers, or catches them as
they tread the stepping-stones of the mountain torrent.
Vertigo came, unseen, to Jacob. After tormenting him a while, with one
touch sending a chill from head to foot, with the next, scorching every
vein with fever, she made the canal rock and tremble beneath him, the
white sails bow and spin as they passed, then cast him heavily upon the
ice.
"Hallo!" cried Van Mounen. "There goes Poot!"
Ben sprang hastily forward.
"Jacob! Jacob, are you hurt?"
Peter and Carl were lifting him. The face was white enough now. It
seemed like a dead face--even the good-natured look was gone.
A crowd collected. Peter unbuttoned the poor boy's jacket, loosened his
red tippet, and blew between the parted lips.
"Stand off, good people!" he cried, "give him air!"
"Lay him down," called out a woman from the crowd.
"Stand him upon his feet," shouted another.
"Give him wine," growled a stout fellow who was driving a loaded sled.
"Yes! yes, give him wine!" echoed everybody.
Ludwig and Lambert shouted in concert:
"Wine! wine! Who has wine!"
A sleepy-eyed Dutchman began to fumble mysteriously under the heaviest
of blue jackets, saying as he did so:
"Not so much noise, young masters, not so much noise! The boy was a fool
to faint off like a girl."
"Wine, quick!" cried Peter who, with Ben's help, was rubbing Jacob from
head to foot.
Ludwig stretched forth his hand imploringly toward the Dutchman, who
with an air of great importance was still fumbling beneath the jacket.
"_Do_ hurry! He will die! Has any one else any wine?"
"He _is_ dead!" said an awful voice from among the bystanders.
This startled the Dutchman.
"Have a care!" he said, reluctantly drawing forth a small blue flask,
"this is schnaps. A little is enough."
A little _was_ enough. The paleness gave way to a faint flush. Jacob
opened his eyes, and--half bewildered, half ashamed,--feebly tried to
free himself from those who were supporting him.
* * * * *
There was no alternative, now, for our party but to have their exhausted
comrade carried, in some way, to Leyden. As for expecting him to skate
any more that day, the thing was impossible. In truth, by this time each
boy began to entertain secret yearnings toward ice-boats, and to avow a
Spartan resolve not to desert Jacob. Fortunately a gentle, steady breeze
was setting southward. If some accommodating schipper[23] would but come
along, matters would not be quite so bad after all.
[Footnote 23: Skipper. Master of a small trading vessel,--a
pleasure-boat or ice-boat.]
Peter hailed the first sail that appeared; the men in the stern would
not even look at him. Three drays on runners came along, but they were
already loaded to the utmost. Then an ice-boat, a beautiful, tempting
little one, whizzed past like an arrow. The boys had just time to stare
eagerly at it when it was gone. In despair, they resolved to prop up
Jacob with their strong arms, as well as they could, and take him to the
nearest village.
At that moment a very shabby ice-boat came in sight. With but little
hope of success, Peter hailed it, at the same time taking off his hat
and flourishing it in the air.
The sail was lowered, then came the scraping sound of the brake, and a
pleasant voice called out from the deck:
"What now?"
"Will you take us on?" cried Peter hurrying with his companions as fast
as he could, for the boat was "bringing to" some distance ahead, "will
you take us on?"
"We'll pay for the ride!" shouted Carl.
The man on board scarcely noticed him except to mutter something about
its not being a trekschuit. Still looking toward Peter he asked:
"How many?"
"Six."
"Well, it's Nicholas' day--up with you! Young gentleman sick?" (nodding
toward Jacob).
"Yes--broken down--skated all the way from Broek," answered Peter--"Do
you go to Leyden?"
"That's as the wind says--It's blowing that way now--Scramble up!"
Poor Jacob! if that willing Mrs. Poot had only appeared just then, her
services would have been invaluable. It was as much as the boys could do
to hoist him into the boat. All were in at last. The schipper, puffing
away at his pipe, let out the sail, lifted the brake, and sat in the
stern with folded arms.
"Whew! How fast we go!" cried Ben. "This is something like! Feel better,
Jacob?"
"Much petter, I tanks you."
"Oh, you'll be as good as new in ten minutes. This makes a fellow feel
like a bird."
Jacob nodded, and blinked his eyes.
"Don't go to sleep, Jacob; it's too cold. You might never wake up, you
know. Persons often freeze to death in that way."
"I no sleep," said Jacob confidently--and in two minutes he was snoring.
Carl and Ludwig laughed.
"We must wake him!" cried Ben; "it is dangerous, I tell you,--Jacob!
Ja-a-c----"
Captain Peter interfered, for three of the boys were helping Ben for the
fun of the thing.
"Nonsense! don't shake him! Let him alone, boys. One never snores like
that when one's freezing. Cover him up with something. Here, this cloak
will do; hey, schipper?" and he looked toward the stern for permission
to use it.
The man nodded.
"There," said Peter, tenderly adjusting the garment, "let him sleep. He
will be frisky as a lamb when he wakes. How far are we from Leyden,
schipper?"
"Not more'n a couple of pipes," replied a voice, rising from smoke like
the genii in fairy tales (puff! puff!), "likely not more'n one an' a
half (puff! puff!) if this wind holds!" (puff! puff! puff!).
"What is the man saying, Lambert?" asked Ben, who was holding his
mittened hands against his cheeks to ward off the cutting air.
"He says we're about two pipes from Leyden. Half the boors here on the
canal measure distances by the time it takes them to finish a pipe."
"How ridiculous."
"See here, Benjamin Dobbs," retorted Lambert, growing unaccountably
indignant at Ben's quiet smile; "see here, you've a way of calling every
other thing you see on _this_ side of the German ocean, 'ridiculous.' It
may suit _you_, this word, but it don't suit _me_. When you want
anything ridiculous just remember your English custom of making the Lord
Mayor of London, at his installation, count the nails in a horseshoe to
prove _his learning_."
"Who told you we had any such custom as that?" cried Ben, looking grave
in an instant.
"Why, I _know_ it, no use of any one telling me. It's in all the
books--and it's true. It strikes me," continued Lambert, laughing in
spite of himself, "that you have been kept in happy ignorance of a good
many ridiculous things on _your_ side of the map."
"Humph!" exclaimed Ben, trying not to smile. "I'll inquire into that
Lord Mayor business when I get home. There must be some mistake.
B-r-r-roooo! How fast we're going. This is glorious!"
It was a grand sail, or ride, I scarce know which to call it; perhaps
"fly" would be the best word; for the boys felt very much as Sinbad did
when, tied to the roc's leg, he darted through the clouds; or as
Bellerophon felt when he shot through the air on the back of his winged
horse Pegasus.
Sailing, riding, or flying, whichever it was, everything was rushing
past, backward--and, before they had time to draw a long breath, Leyden
itself, with its high peaked-roofs, flew half-way to meet them.
When the city came in sight it was high time to waken the sleeper. That
feat accomplished, Peter's prophecy came to pass. Master Jacob was quite
restored and in excellent spirits.
The schipper made a feeble remonstrance when Peter, with hearty thanks,
endeavored to slip some silver pieces into his tough, brown palm.
"Ye see, young master," said he, drawing away his hand, "the regular
line o' trade's _one_ thing, and a favor's another."
"I know it," said Peter, "but those boys and girls of yours will want
sweets when you get home. Buy them some in the name of Saint Nicholas."
The man grinned. "Aye, true enough, I've young 'uns in plenty, a clean
boat-load of them. You are a sharp young master at guessing."
This time, the knotty hand hitched forward again, quite carelessly, it
seemed, but its palm was upward. Peter hastily dropped in the money and
moved away.
The sail soon came tumbling down. Scrape, scrape went the brake,
scattering an ice shower round the boat.
"Good-bye, schipper!" shouted the boys, seizing their skates and leaping
from the deck one by one, "many thanks to you!"
"Good-bye! good-b----Hold! here! stop! I want my coat."
Ben was carefully assisting his cousin over the side of the boat.
"What is the man shouting about? Oh, I know, you have his wrapper round
your shoulders!"
"Dat ish true," answered Jacob, half jumping, half tumbling down upon
the framework, "dat ish vot make him sho heavy."
"Made _you_ so heavy, you mean, Poot?"
"Ya, made you sho heavy--dat ish true," said Jacob innocently, as he
worked himself free from the big wrapper; "dere, now you hands it mit
him straits way and tells him I voz much tanks for dat."
"Ho! for an inn!" cried Peter, as they stepped into the city. "Be brisk,
my fine fellows!"
XXI
MYNHEER KLEEF AND HIS BILL OF FARE
The boys soon found an unpretending establishment near the Breedstraat
(Broad Street) with a funnily painted lion over the door. This was the
ROODE LEEUW or Red Lion, kept by one Huygens Kleef, a stout Dutchman
with short legs and a very long pipe.
By this time they were in a ravenous condition. The tiffin, taken at
Haarlem, had served only to give them an appetite, and this had been
heightened by their exercise, and swift sail upon the canal.
"Come, mine host! give us what you can!" cried Peter rather pompously.
"I can give you anything--everything," answered Mynheer Kleef,
performing a difficult bow.
"Well, give us sausage and pudding."
"Ah, mynheer, the sausage is all gone. There is no pudding."
"Salmagundi, then, and plenty of it."
"That is out also, young master."
"Eggs, and be quick."
"Winter eggs are _very_ poor eating," answered the innkeeper, puckering
his lips, and lifting his eyebrows.
"No eggs? well--Caviare."
The Dutchman raised his fat hands:
"Caviare! That is made of gold! Who has caviare to sell?"
Peter had sometimes eaten it at home; he knew that it was made of the
roes of the sturgeon, and certain other large fish, but he had no idea
of its cost.
"Well, mine host, what have you?"
"What have I? Everything. I have rye-bread, sour-krout, potato-salad and
the fattest herring in Leyden."
"What do you say, boys?" asked the captain; "will that do?"
"Yes," cried the famished youths, "if he'll only be quick."
Mynheer moved off like one walking in his sleep, but soon opened his
eyes wide at the miraculous manner in which his herring were made to
disappear. Next came, or rather went, potato-salad, rye-bread and
coffee--then Utrecht water flavored with orange, and, finally, slices of
dry gingerbread. This last delicacy was not on the regular bill of fare;
but Mynheer Kleef, driven to extremes, solemnly produced it from his own
private stores, and gave only a placid blink when his voracious young
travelers started up, declaring they had eaten enough.
"I should think so!" he exclaimed internally, but his smooth face gave
no sign.
Softly rubbing his hands, he asked:
"Will your worships have beds?"
"Will your worships have beds?" mocked Carl--"what do you mean? Do we
look sleepy?"
"Not at all, master; but I would cause them to be warmed and aired. None
sleep under damp sheets at the Red Lion."
"Ah, I understand. Shall we come back here to sleep, captain?"
Peter was accustomed to finer lodgings; but this was a frolic.
"Why not?" he replied; "we can fare excellently here."
"Your worship speaks only the truth," said mynheer with great deference.
"How fine to be called 'your worship,'" laughed Ludwig aside to Lambert,
while Peter replied:
"Well, mine host, you may get the rooms ready by nine."
"I have one beautiful chamber, with three beds, that will hold all of
your worships," said Mynheer Kleef coaxingly.
"That will do."
"Whew!" whistled Carl when they reached the street.
Ludwig started. "What now?"
"Nothing--only Mynheer Kleef of the Red Lion little thinks how we shall
make things spin in that same room to-night--We'll set the bolsters
flying!"
"Order!" cried the captain. "Now, boys, I must seek this great Dr.
Boekman before I sleep. If he is in Leyden it will be no great task to
find him, for he always puts up at the Golden Eagle when he comes here.
I wonder that you did not all go to bed at once--Still, as you are
awake, what say you to walking with Ben up by the Museum or the
Stadhuis?"
"Agreed," said Ludwig and Lambert; but Jacob preferred to go with Peter.
In vain Ben tried to persuade him to remain at the Inn and rest. He
declared that he never felt "petter," and wished of all things to take a
look at the city, for it was his first "stop mit Leyden."
"Oh, it will not harm him," said Lambert. "How long the day has
been--and what glorious sport we have had. It hardly seems possible that
we left Broek only this morning."
Jacob yawned.
"I have enjoyed it well," he said, "but it seems to me at least a week
since we started."
Carl laughed, and muttered something about "twenty naps----"
"Here we are at the corner; remember, we all meet at the Red Lion at
eight," said the captain, as he and Jacob walked away.
XXII
THE RED LION BECOMES DANGEROUS
The boys were glad to find a blazing fire awaiting them upon their
return to the "Red Lion." Carl and his party were there first. Soon
afterward Peter and Jacob came in. They had inquired in vain concerning
Dr. Boekman. All they could ascertain was that he had been seen in
Haarlem that morning.
"As for his being in Leyden," the landlord of the Golden Eagle had said
to Peter, "the thing is impossible. He always lodges here when in town.
By this time there would be a crowd at my door waiting to consult
him--Bah! people make such fools of themselves!"
"He is called a great surgeon," said Peter.
"Yes, the greatest in Holland. But what of that? What of being the
greatest pill-choker and knife-slasher in the world? The man is a bear.
Only last month on this very spot, he called me _a pig_, before three
customers!"
"No!" exclaimed Peter, trying to look surprised and indignant.
"Yes, master--A PIG," repeated the landlord, puffing at his pipe with an
injured air. "Bah! if he did not pay fine prices and bring customers to
my house I would sooner see him in the Vliet canal than give him
lodgment."
Perhaps mine host felt that he was speaking too openly to a stranger, or
it may be he saw a smile lurking in Peter's face, for he added sharply:
"Come, now, what more do you wish? Supper? Beds?"
"No, mynheer, I am but searching for Dr. Boekman."
"Go find him. He is not in Leyden."
Peter was not to be put off so easily. After receiving a few more rough
words, he succeeded in obtaining permission to leave a note for the
famous surgeon, or rather, he _bought_ from his amiable landlord the
privilege of writing it there, and a promise that it should be promptly
delivered when Dr. Boekman arrived. This accomplished, Peter and Jacob
returned to the "Red Lion."
This inn had once been a fine house, the home of a rich burgher; but,
having grown old and shabby, it had passed through many hands, until
finally it had fallen into the possession of Mynheer Kleef. He was fond
of saying as he looked up at its dingy, broken walls--"mend it, and
paint it, and there's not a prettier house in Leyden." It stood six
stories high from the street. The first three were of equal breadth but
of various heights, the last three were in the great, high roof, and
grew smaller and smaller like a set of double steps until the top one
was lost in a point. The roof was built of short, shining tiles, and the
windows, with their little panes, seemed to be scattered irregularly
over the face of the building, without the slightest attention to
outward effect. But the public room on the ground floor was the
landlord's joy and pride. He never said "mend it, and paint it," there,
for everything was in the highest condition of Dutch neatness and order.
If you will but open your mind's eye you may look into the apartment.
Imagine a large, bare room, with a floor that seemed to be made of
squares cut out of glazed earthen pie-dishes, first a yellow piece, then
a red, until the whole looked like a vast checker-board. Fancy a dozen
high-backed wooden chairs standing around; then a great hollow
chimney-place all aglow with its blazing fire, reflected a hundred times
in the polished steel fire-dogs; a tiled hearth, tiled sides, tiled top,
with a Dutch sentence upon it; and over all, high above one's head, a
narrow mantel-shelf, filled with shining brass candle-sticks,
pipe-lighters and tinder-boxes. Then see in one end of the room, three
pine tables; in the other, a closet and a deal dresser. The latter is
filled with mugs, dishes, pipes, tankards, earthen and glass bottles,
and is guarded at one end by a brass-hooped keg standing upon long legs.
Everything dim with tobacco smoke, but otherwise clean as soap and sand
can make it. Next picture two sleepy, shabby-looking men, in wooden
shoes, seated near the glowing fireplace, hugging their knees and
smoking short, stumpy pipes; Mynheer Kleef walking softly and heavily
about, clad in leather knee breeches, felt shoes and a green jacket
wider than it is long:--then throw a heap of skates in the corner, and
put six tired, well-dressed boys, in various attitudes, upon the wooden
chairs, and you will see the coffee-room of the "Red Lion" just as it
appeared at nine o'clock on the evening of December 6th, 184--. For
supper, gingerbread again; slices of Dutch sausage, rye-bread sprinkled
with annis-seed; pickles; a bottle of Utrecht water, and a pot of very
mysterious coffee. The boys were ravenous enough to take all they could
get, and pronounce it excellent. Ben made wry faces, but Jacob declared
he had never eaten a better meal. After they had laughed and talked a
while, and counted their money by way of settling a discussion that
arose concerning their expenses, the captain marched his company off to
bed, led on by a greasy pioneer-boy who carried skates and a candlestick
instead of an axe.
One of the ill-favored men by the fire had shuffled toward the dresser,
and was ordering a mug of beer, just as Ludwig, who brought up the rear,
was stepping from the apartment.
"I don't like that fellow's eye," he whispered to Carl; "he looks like a
pirate, or something of that kind."