Ludwig laughed uneasily.
"Granny or no granny," he whispered, "I tell you he looks just like one
of those men in the 'voetspoelen.'"
"Pooh!" sneered Carl, "I knew it. That picture was too much for you.
Look sharp now, and see if yon fellow with the candle doesn't look like
the other villain."
"No, indeed, his face is as honest as a Gouda cheese. But, I say, Carl,
that really was a horrid picture."
"Humph! What did you stare at it so long for?"
"I couldn't help it."
By this time the boys had reached the "beautiful room with three beds in
it." A dumpy little maiden with long earrings met them at the doorway,
dropped them a courtesy, and passed out. She carried a long-handled
thing that resembled a frying-pan with a cover.
"I am glad to see that," said Van Mounen to Ben.
"What?"
"Why, the warming-pan. It's full of hot ashes; she's been heating our
beds."
"Oh! a warming-pan, eh! Much obliged to her, I'm sure," said Ben, too
sleepy to make any further comment.
Meantime, Ludwig still talked of the picture that had made such a strong
impression upon him. He had seen it in a shop window during their walk.
It was a poorly-painted thing, representing two men tied back to back,
standing on shipboard, surrounded by a group of seamen who were
preparing to cast them together into the sea. This mode of putting
prisoners to death was called _voetspoelen_, or feet-washing, and was
practised by the Dutch upon the pirates of Dunkirk in 1605; and, again,
by the Spaniards upon the Dutch, in the horrible massacre that followed
the siege of Haarlem. Bad as the painting was, the expression upon the
pirates' faces was well given. Sullen and despairing as they seemed,
they wore such a cruel, malignant aspect, that Ludwig had felt a secret
satisfaction in contemplating their helpless condition. He might have
forgotten the scene by this time but for that ill-looking man by the
fire. Now, while he capered about, boy-like, and threw himself with an
antic into his bed, he inwardly hoped that the "voetspoelen" would not
haunt his dreams.
It was a cold, cheerless room; a fire had been newly kindled in the
burnished stove, and seemed to shiver even while it was trying to burn.
The windows, with their funny little panes, were bare and shiny, and the
cold, waxed floor looked like a sheet of yellow ice. Three rush-bottomed
chairs stood stiffly against the wall, alternating with three narrow
wooden bedsteads that made the room look like the deserted ward of a
hospital. At any other time the boys would have found it quite
impossible to sleep in pairs, especially in such narrow quarters; but
to-night they lost all fear of being crowded, and longed only to lay
their weary bodies upon the feather beds that lay lightly upon each cot.
Had the boys been in Germany instead of Holland they might have been
covered, also, by a bed of down or feathers. This peculiar form of
luxury was at that time adopted only by wealthy or eccentric Hollanders.
Ludwig, as we have seen, had not quite lost his friskiness; but the
other boys, after one or two feeble attempts at pillow-firing, composed
themselves for the night with the greatest dignity. Nothing like fatigue
for making boys behave themselves.
"Good-night, boys!" said Peter's voice from under the covers.
"Good-night," called back everybody but Jacob, who already lay snoring
beside the captain.
"I say," shouted Carl, after a moment, "don't sneeze, anybody. Ludwig's
in a fright!"
"No such thing," retorted Ludwig in a smothered voice. Then there was a
little whispered dispute, which was ended by Carl saying:
"For _my_ part, I don't know what fear is. But you really are a timid
fellow, Ludwig."
Ludwig grunted sleepily, but made no further reply.
* * * * *
It was the middle of the night. The fire had shivered itself to death,
and, in place of its gleams, little squares of moonlight lay upon the
floor, slowly, slowly shifting their way across the room. Something else
was moving also, but they did not see it. Sleeping boys keep but a poor
lookout. During the early hours of the night, Jacob Poot had been
gradually but surely winding himself with all the bed covers. He now lay
like a monster chrysalis beside the half-frozen Peter, who,
accordingly, was skating with all his might over the coldest, bleakest
of dreamland icebergs.
Something else, I say, besides the moonlight, was moving across the
bare, polished floor--moving not quite so slowly, but quite as
stealthily.
Wake up, Ludwig! The voetspoelen pirate is growing real!
No. Ludwig does not waken, but he moans in his sleep.
Does not Carl hear it--Carl the brave, the fearless?
No. Carl is dreaming of the race.
And Jacob? Van Mounen? Ben?
Not they. They, too, are dreaming of the race; and Katrinka is singing
through their dreams--laughing, flitting past them; now and then a wave
from the great organ surges through their midst.
Still the thing moves, slowly, slowly.
Peter! Captain Peter, there is danger!
* * * * *
Peter heard no call; but, in his dream, he slid a few thousand feet from
one iceberg to another, and the shock awoke him.
Whew! How cold he was! He gave a hopeless, desperate tug at the
chrysalis. In vain; sheet, blanket and spread were firmly wound about
Jacob's inanimate form. Peter looked drowsily toward the window.
"Clear moonlight," he thought; "we shall have pleasant weather
to-morrow. Hallo! what's that?"
He saw the moving thing, or rather something black crouching upon the
floor, for it had halted as Peter stirred.
He watched in silence.
Soon it moved again, nearer and nearer. It was a man crawling upon hands
and feet!
The captain's first impulse was to call out; but he took an instant to
consider matters.
The creeper had a shining knife in one hand. This was ugly; but Peter
was naturally self-possessed. When the head turned, Peter's eyes were
closed as if in sleep; but at other times nothing could be keener,
sharper than the captain's gaze.
Closer, closer crept the robber. His back was very near Peter now. The
knife was laid softly upon the floor; one careful arm reached forth
stealthily to drag the clothes from the chair by the captain's bed--the
robbery was commenced.
Now was Peter's time! Holding his breath, he sprang up and leaped with
all his strength upon the robber's back, stunning the rascal with the
force of the blow. To seize the knife was but a second's work. The
robber began to struggle, but Peter sat like a giant astride the
prostrate form.
"If you stir," said the brave boy in as terrible a voice as he could
command, "stir but one inch, I will plunge this knife into your neck.
Boys! Boys! wake up!" he shouted, still pressing down the black head,
and holding the knife at pricking distance, "give us a hand! I've got
him! I've got him!"
The chrysalis rolled over, but made no other sign.
"Up, boys!" cried Peter, never budging. "Ludwig! Lambert! Thunder! Are
you all dead?"
Dead! not they. Van Mounen and Ben were on their feet in an instant.
"Hey? What now?" they shouted.
"I've got a robber here," said Peter, coolly. "(Lie still, you
scoundrel, or I'll slice your head off!) Now, boys, cut out your bed
cord--plenty of time--he's a dead man if he stirs."
Peter felt that he weighed a thousand pounds. So he did, with that knife
in his hand.
The man growled and swore, but dared not move.
Ludwig was up, by this time. He had a great jack-knife, the pride of his
heart, in his breeches pocket. It could do good service now. They bared
the bedstead in a moment. It was laced backward and forward with a rope.
"I'll cut it," cried Ludwig, sawing away at the knot; "hold him tight,
Pete!"
"Never fear!" answered the captain, giving the robber a warning prick.
The boys were soon pulling at the rope like good fellows. It was out at
last--a long, stout piece.
"Now, boys," commanded the captain, "lift up his rascally arms! Cross
his hands over his back! That's right--excuse me for being in the
way--tie them tight!"
"Yes, and his feet too, the villain!" cried the boys in great
excitement, tying knot after knot with Herculean jerks.
The prisoner changed his tone.
"Oh--oh!" he moaned, "spare a poor sick man--I was but walking in my
sleep."
"Ugh!" grunted Lambert, still tugging away at the rope, "asleep, were
you? well, we'll wake you up."
The man muttered fierce oaths between his teeth--then cried in a piteous
voice, "Unbind me, good young masters! I have five little children at
home. By Saint Bavon I swear to give you each a ten-guilder piece if
you will but free me!"
"Ha! ha!" laughed Peter.
"Ha! ha!" laughed the other boys.
Then came threats--threats that made Ludwig fairly shudder, though he
continued to bind and tie with re-doubled energy.
"Hold up! mynheer house-breaker," said Van Mounen in a warning voice.
"That knife is very near your throat. If you make the captain nervous,
there is no telling what may happen."
The robber took the hint, and fell into a sullen silence.
Just at this moment the chrysalis upon the bed stirred and sat erect.
"What's the matter?" he asked, without opening his eyes.
"Matter!" echoed Ludwig, half trembling, half laughing, "get up, Jacob.
Here's work for you. Come sit on this fellow's back while we get into
our clothes; we're half perished."
"What fellow? Donder!"
"Hurrah for Poot!" cried all the boys, as Jacob sliding quickly to the
floor, bedclothes and all, took in the state of affairs at a glance, and
sat heavily beside Peter on the robber's back.
Oh, didn't the fellow groan, then!
"No use in holding him down any longer, boys," said Peter, rising, but
bending as he did so to draw a pistol from his man's belt. "You see,
I've been keeping guard over this pretty little weapon for the last ten
minutes. It's cocked and the least wriggle might have set it off. No
danger now. I must dress myself. You and I, Lambert, will go for the
police. I'd no idea it was so cold."
"Where is Carl?" asked one of the boys.
They looked at one another. Carl certainly was not among them.
"Oh!" cried Ludwig, frightened at last, "where is he? Perhaps he's had a
fight with the robber, and got killed."
"Not a bit of it," said Peter quietly, as he buttoned his stout jacket.
"Look under the beds."
They did so. Carl was not there.
Just then they heard a commotion on the stairway. Ben hastened to open
the door. The landlord almost tumbled in; he was armed with a big
blunderbuss. Two or three lodgers followed; then the daughter, with an
upraised frying-pan in one hand, and a candle in the other; and, behind
her, looking pale and frightened, the gallant Carl!
"There's your man, mine host," said Peter, nodding toward the prisoner.
Mine host raised his blunderbuss, the girl screamed, and Jacob, more
nimble than usual, rolled quickly from the robber's back.
"Don't fire," cried Peter; "he is tied, hand and foot. Let's roll him
over, and see what he looks like."
Carl stepped briskly forward, with a blustering "Yes. _We'll_ turn him
over, in a way he won't like. Lucky we've caught him!"
"Ha! ha!" laughed Ludwig, "where were you, Master Carl?"
"Where was I?" retorted Carl, angrily; "why, I went to give the alarm,
to be sure!"
All the boys exchanged glances; but they were too happy and elated to
say anything ill-natured. Carl certainly was bold enough now. He took
the lead while three others aided him in turning the helpless man.
While the robber lay, face up, scowling and muttering, Ludwig took the
candlestick from the girl's hand.
"I must have a good look at the beauty," he said, drawing closer, but
the words were no sooner spoken than he turned pale and started so
violently that he almost dropped the candle.
"THE VOETSPOELEN!" he cried; "why, boys, it's the man who sat by the
fire!"
"Of course it is," answered Peter; "we counted our money before him like
simpletons. But what have we to do with voetspoelen, brother Ludwig? A
month in jail is punishment enough."
The landlord's daughter had left the room. She now ran in, holding up a
pair of huge wooden shoes. "See, father," she cried, "here are his great
ugly boats. It's the man that we put in the next room after the young
masters went to bed. Ah! it was wrong to send the poor young gentlemen
up here so far out of sight and sound."
"The scoundrel!" hissed the landlord, "he has disgraced my house. I go
for the police at once!"
In less than fifteen minutes two drowsy looking officers were in the
room. After telling Mynheer Kleef that he must appear early in the
morning with the boys and make his complaint before a magistrate, they
marched off with their prisoner.
One would think the captain and his band could have slept no more that
night; but the mooring has not yet been found that can prevent youth and
an easy conscience from drifting down the river of dreams. The boys
were too much fatigued to let so slight a thing as capturing a robber
bind them to wakefulness. They were soon in bed again, floating away to
strange scenes made of familiar things. Ludwig and Carl had spread their
bedding upon the floor. One had already forgotten the voetspoelen, the
race--everything; but Carl was wide awake. He heard the carrilons
ringing out their solemn nightly music, and the watchman's noisy clapper
putting in discord at the quarter-hours; he saw the moonshine glide away
from the window, and the red morning light come pouring in, and all the
while he kept thinking:
"Pooh! what a goose I have made of myself!"
Carl Schummel, alone, with none to look or to listen, was not quite so
grand a fellow as Carl Schummel strutting about in his boots.
XXIII
BEFORE THE COURT
You may believe the landlord's daughter bestirred herself to prepare a
good meal for the boys next morning. Mynheer had a Chinese gong that
could make more noise than a dozen of breakfast bells. Its hideous
reveille, clanging through the house, generally startled the drowsiest
lodgers into activity, but the maiden would not allow it to be sounded
this morning:
"Let the brave young gentlemen sleep," she said, to the greasy kitchen
boy; "they shall be warmly fed when they waken."
It was ten o'clock when Captain Peter and his band came straggling down
one by one.
"A pretty hour," said mine host, gruffly. "It is high time we were
before the court. Fine business this for a respectable inn. You will
testify truly, young masters, that you found most excellent fare and
lodgment at the Red Lion?"
"Of course we will," answered Carl, saucily, "and pleasant company, too,
though they visit at rather unseasonable hours."
A stare and a "humph!" was all the answer Mynheer made to this, but the
daughter was more communicative. Shaking her earrings at Carl she said
sharply:
"Not so very pleasant either, master traveler, if one could judge by the
way _you_ ran away from it!"
"Impertinent creature!" hissed Carl under his breath, as he began busily
to examine his skate-straps. Meantime the kitchen-boy, listening outside
at the crack of the door, doubled himself with silent laughter.
After breakfast the boys went to the Police Court, accompanied by
Huygens Kleef and his daughter. Mynheer's testimony was principally to
the effect that such a thing as a robber at the "Red Lion" had been
unheard of until last night; and as for the "Red Lion," it was a most
respectable inn, as respectable as any house in Leyden. Each boy, in
turn, told all he knew of the affair, and identified the prisoner in the
box as the same man who entered their room in the dead of night. Ludwig
was surprised to find that the robber was a man of ordinary
size--especially after he had described him, under oath, to the Court as
a tremendous fellow, with great square shoulders, and legs of prodigious
weight. Jacob swore that he was awakened by the robber kicking and
thrashing upon the floor; and, immediately afterward, Peter and the rest
(feeling sorry that they had not explained the matter to their sleepy
comrade) testified that the man had not moved a muscle from the moment
the point of the dagger touched his throat, until, bound from head to
foot, he was rolled over for inspection. The landlord's daughter made
one boy blush, and all the court smile, by declaring that, "if it hadn't
been for that handsome young gentleman there" (pointing to Peter) they
"might have all been murdered in their beds; for the dreadful man had a
great, shining knife most as long as your honor's arm," and _she_
believed "the handsome young gentleman had struggled hard enough to get
it away from him, but he was too modest, bless him! to say so."
Finally, after a little questioning, and cross-questioning from the
public Prosecutor the witnesses were dismissed, and the robber was
handed over to the consideration of the Criminal Court.
"The scoundrel!" said Carl, savagely, when the boys reached the street.
"He ought to be sent to jail at once. If I had been in your place,
Peter, I certainly should have killed him outright!"
"He was fortunate, then, in falling into gentler hands," was Peter's
quiet reply; "it appears he has been arrested before under a charge of
house-breaking. He did not succeed in robbing this time, but he broke
the door-fastenings, and that I believe makes a burglary in the eye of
the law. He was armed with a knife, too, and that makes it worse for
him, poor fellow!"
"Poor fellow!" mimicked Carl; "one would think he was your brother!"
"So he is my brother, and yours, too, Carl Schummel, for that matter,"
answered Peter, looking into Carl's eye. "We cannot say what we might
have become under other circumstances. _We_ have been bolstered up from
evil, since the hour we were born. A happy home and good parents might
have made that man a fine fellow instead of what he is. God grant that
the law may cure and not crush him!"
"Amen to that!" said Lambert, heartily, while Ludwig van Holp looked at
his brother in such a bright, proud way that Jacob Poot, who was an only
son, wished from his heart that the little form buried in the old church
at home had lived to grow up beside him.
"Humph!" said Carl, "it's very well to be saintly and forgiving, and all
that sort of thing, but I'm naturally hard. All these fine ideas seem to
rattle off of me like hailstones--and it's nobody's business, either, if
they do."
Peter recognized a touch of good feeling in this clumsy concession;
holding out his hand, he said in a frank, hearty tone:
"Come, lad, shake hands, and let us be good friends even if we don't
exactly agree on all questions."
"We do agree better than you think," sulked Carl, as he returned Peter's
grasp.
"All right," responded Peter briskly. "Now Van Mounen, we await
Benjamin's wishes. Where would he like to go?"
"To the Egyptian Museum," answered Lambert, after holding a brief
consultation with Ben.
"That is on the Breede Straat. To the Museum let it be. Come, boys!"
XXIV
THE BELEAGUERED CITIES
"This open square before us," said Lambert, as he and Ben walked on
together, "is pretty in summer, with its shady trees. They call it the
Ruine. Years ago it was covered with houses, and the Rapenburg canal,
here, ran through the street. Well, one day a barge loaded with forty
thousand pounds of gunpowder, bound for Delft, was lying alongside, and
the bargemen took a notion to cook their dinner on the deck; and before
any one knew it, sir, the whole thing blew up, killing lots of persons
and scattering about three hundred houses to the winds."
"What!" exclaimed Ben, "did the explosion destroy three hundred houses!"
"Yes, sir, my father was in Leyden at the time. He says it was terrible.
The explosion occurred just at noon, and was like a volcano. All this
part of the town was on fire in an instant, buildings tumbling down, and
men, women and children groaning under the ruins--The King himself came
to the city and acted nobly, father says, staying out in the streets all
night, encouraging the survivors in their efforts to arrest the fire,
and rescue as many as possible from under the heaps of stone and
rubbish. Through his means a collection for the benefit of the sufferers
was raised throughout the kingdom, besides a hundred thousand guilders
paid out of the treasury. Father was only nineteen years old then; it
was in 1807, I believe, but he remembers it perfectly. A friend of his,
Professor Luzac, was among the killed. They have a tablet erected to his
memory, in Saint Peter's Church, further on--the queerest thing you ever
saw--with an image of the professor carved upon it representing him just
as he looked when he was found after the explosion."
"What a strange idea! Isn't Boerhaave's monument in Saint Peter's also?"
"I cannot remember. Perhaps Peter knows."
The captain delighted Ben by saying that the monument was there and that
he thought they might be able to see it during the day.
"Lambert," continued Peter, "ask Ben if he saw Van der Werf's portrait
at the Town Hall last night?"
"No," said Lambert, "I can answer for him. It was too late to go in. I
say, boys, it is really wonderful how much Ben knows. Why, he has told
me a volume of Dutch history already. I'll wager he has the siege of
Leyden at his tongue's end."
"His tongue must burn then," interposed Ludwig, "for if Bilderdyk's
account is true it was a pretty hot affair."
Ben was looking at them with an inquiring smile.
"We are speaking of the siege of Leyden," explained Lambert.
"Oh, yes," said Ben, eagerly, "I had forgotten all about it. This was
the very place--Let's give old Van der Werf three cheers--Hur----"
Van Mounen uttered a hasty "hush!" and explained that, patriotic as the
Dutch were, the police would soon have something to say if a party of
boys cheered in the street at midday.
"What! not cheer Van der Werf?" cried Ben, indignantly. "One of the
greatest chaps in history? Only think! Didn't he hold out against those
murderous Spaniards for months and months! There was the town,
surrounded on all sides by the enemy; great black forts sending fire and
death into the very heart of the city--but no surrender! Every man a
hero--women, and children, too, brave and fierce as lions--provisions
giving out, the very grass from between the paving-stones gone--till
people were glad to eat horses and cats and dogs and rats. Then came the
Plague--hundreds dying in the streets--but no surrender! Then when they
could bear no more--when the people, brave as they were, crowded about
Van der Werf in the public square begging him to give up; what did the
noble old burgomaster say:--'I have sworn to defend this city, and with
God's help, _I mean to do it_! If my body can satisfy your hunger, take
it, and divide it among you--but expect no surrender so long as I am
alive'--Hurrah! hur----"
Ben was getting uproarious; Lambert playfully clapped his hand over his
friend's mouth. The result was one of those quick india-rubber scuffles
fearful to behold, but delightful to human nature in its polliwog state.
"Vat wash te matter, Pen?" asked Jacob, hurrying forward.
"Oh! nothing at all," panted Ben, "except that Van Mounen was afraid of
starting an English riot in this orderly town. He stopped my cheering
for old Van der----"
"Ya! ya--it ish no goot to sheer--to make te noise for dat--You vill
shee old Van der Does' likeness mit te Stadhuis."
"See old Van der Does? I thought it was Van der Werf's picture they had
there----"
"Ya," responded Jacob, "Van der Werf--vell, vot of it! both ish just ash
goot----"
"Yes, Van der Does was a noble old Dutchman, but he was not Van der
Werf. I know he defended the city like a brick, and----"
"Now vot for you shay dat, Penchamin? He no defend te citty mit breek,
he fight like goot soltyer mit his guns. You like make te fun mit
effrysinks Tutch."
"No! no! no! I said he defended the city like a brick. That is very high
praise, I would have you understand. We English call even the Duke of
Wellington a brick."
Jacob looked puzzled; but his indignation was already on the ebb.
"Vell, it ish no matter. I no tink, before, soltyer mean breek, but it
ish no matter."
Ben laughed good-naturedly, and seeing that his cousin was tired of
talking in English, he turned to his friend of the two languages: