Produced by Annie R. McGuire
[Illustration: Book Cover]
JACQUELINE OF THE CARRIER PIGEONS
[Illustration]
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
NEW YORK - BOSTON - CHICAGO - DALLAS
ATLANTA - SAN FRANCISCO
MACMILLAN & CO., LIMITED
LONDON - BOMBAY - CALCUTTA
MELBOURNE
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
OF CANADA, LIMITED
TORONTO
[Illustration: Jacqueline and her Carrier Pigeon in the Procession]
[Illustration: Title Page]
Copyright 1910
BY THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
Set up and electrotyped. Published March, 1910
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA BY
THE BERWICK & SMITH CO.
TO
MY SEVEREST CRITIC,
MY FATHER,
AND TO
VIRGINIA
WHO WAS ITS INSPIRATION,
I DEDICATE THIS BOOK
INTRODUCTION
FAIR LEYDEN
I am glad that Mrs. Seaman has written this story. Americans cannot know
Leyden too well, for no city in Europe so worthily deserves the name of
Alma Mater. Here, after giving the world an inspiring example of
heroism, modern liberty had her chosen home. The siege, so finely
pictured in this story, took place about midway in time between two
great events--the march of Alva the Spaniard and his terrible army of
"Black Beards" into the Netherlands, and the Union of Utrecht, by which
the seven states formed the Dutch Republic.
This new nation was based on the federal compact of a written
constitution, under the red and white striped flag, in which each stripe
represented a state. Under that flag, which we borrowed in 1775 and
still keep, though we have added stars, universal common school
education of all the children, in public schools sustained by taxation,
and freedom of religion for all, was the rule. Leyden won her victory
seven years before the Dutch Declaration of Independence in July, 1581.
As our own Benjamin Franklin declared, "In love of liberty and bravery
in the defense of it, she (the Dutch Republic) has been our great
example."
With freedom won, as so graphically portrayed in this story, Leyden
enlarged her bounds and welcomed to residence and citizenship three
companies of people who became pioneers of our American life. Like the
carrier-pigeons, they brought something with them. To our nation, they
gave some of the noblest principles of the seven Dutch United States to
help in making those thirteen of July 4, 1776, and the constitutional
commonwealth of 1787, formed by "the people of the United States of
America."
First of all, to victorious Leyden, came the Walloons, or refugees from
Belgium, to gather strength before sailing in the good ship New
Netherland, in 1623, to lay the foundations of the Empire State. Then
followed the Pilgrim Fathers of New England. Many of the young and
strong who sailed in the Speedwell and Mayflower were born in Leyden and
spoke and wrote Dutch. The old folks, who could not cross the Atlantic,
remained in Leyden until they died and some were buried in St. Pancras
and St. Peter's Church. In this city, also, dwelt the Huguenots, in
large numbers, many of whom came to America to add their gifts and
graces to enrich our nation. Last, but not least, besides educating in
her university hundreds of colonial Americans, including two sons of
John Adams, one of whom, John Quincy Adams became president of the
United States, Leyden in 1782, led in the movement to recognize us as an
independent country. Then the Dutch lent us four millions of dollars,
which paid off our starving Continentals. Principal and interest, repaid
in 1808, amounting to fourteen millions, were used to develop six
thousand square miles of Western New York, when New Amsterdam (later
called Buffalo) was laid out, and whence came two of our presidents,
Fillmore and Cleveland.
A most delightful romance is this of Mrs. Seaman. True to facts and
exact in coloring, it is all the better for being the straightforward
narrative of a real boy and a genuine girl. Gysbert Cornellisen's
cooking pot, once smoking with savory Spanish stew or hodge-podge, is
still to be seen in the Stedelyk (city) Museum, which every American
ought to visit when in Leyden. It is in the old Laken Hal (or cloth
Hall). From the turreted battlements of Hengist Hill (Den Burg) we may
still look out over the country. If in Leyden on October 3, one will see
Thanksgiving Day celebrated, as I know it was, most gaily, in 1909, in a
most delightfully Dutch way, when the brides of the year are in
evidence. In Belfry Lane, where Jacqueline lived, was the later home of
the Pilgrim Fathers. On the wall of great Saint Peter's church is a
bronze tablet in honor of the pastor of the Mayflower company, and
inside is the tomb of Jean Luzac, "friend of Washington, Jefferson and
Adams." His newspaper, printed in Dutch and French, during our
Revolutionary War, won for us the recognition of three governments in
Europe. On the Rapenburg, where he lived, a bronze tablet in his honor
was unveiled, to the singing of "The Star Spangled Banner" on September
8, 1909.
Having spent weeks in Leyden, during a dozen visits, I can testify to
the general historic accuracy, as well as to the throbbing human
interest of this story of _Jacqueline of the Carrier Pigeons_. It will
be sure to attract many a young traveller to Leyden.
WILLIAM ELLIOT GRIFFIS.
Ithaca, N. Y., January 8, 1910.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. ON HENGIST HILL 3
II. THE KING'S PARDON 19
III. GYSBERT BECOMES A JUMPER 35
IV. IN THE CAMP OF THE ENEMY 51
V. THE DECISION OF JACQUELINE 67
VI. THE COMING OF THE FIRST PIGEON 83
VII. A SWIM IN THE CANAL--AND WHAT CAME OF IT 99
VIII. "TRANQUIL AMID RAGING BILLOWS" 113
IX. VROUW VOORHAAS'S SECRET 129
X. THE BEGGARS OF THE SEA 141
XI. JACQUELINE RESPONDS TO AN URGENT SUMMONS 155
XII. REUNITED 169
XIII. ADRIAN VAN DER WERF 185
XIV. ALONZO DE ROVA IS AS GOOD AS HIS WORD 201
XV. THE EAVESDROPPERS AND THE PLOT 213
XVI. WHEN THE WIND CHANGED 229
XVII. A CRASH IN THE NIGHT 245
XVIII. THE DAWN OF OCTOBER THIRD 261
XIX. THE SECRET OUT 277
XX. THE GREAT DAY 289
ILLUSTRATIONS
FROM DECORATIVE DRAWINGS
BY GEORGE WHARTON EDWARDS
Jacqueline and her carrier pigeons in the procession _Frontispiece_
FACING PAGE
Gysbert draws the portrait of Alonzo De Rova 62
Dirk Willumhoog seizes Jacqueline 292
ON HENGIST HILL
CHAPTER I
ON HENGIST HILL
The hush of a golden May afternoon lay on the peaceful, watery streets
of Leyden. Just enough breeze circulated to rustle the leaves of the
poplars, limes and willows that arched the shaded canals. The city
drowsed in its afternoon siesta, and few were about to notice the boy
and girl making their way rapidly toward the middle of the town.
Directly before them, the canal-interlaced streets and stone bridges
gave place to a steep incline of ground rising to a considerable height.
Its sides were clothed with groves of fruit trees, and from its summit
frowned the mouldering walls of some long-forsaken fortress. So old and
deserted was this tower that a great clump of oak trees had grown up
inside of it, and overtopped its walls.
"Art thou tired, Gysbert?" asked the girl, a slim, golden-haired lass of
seventeen, of her younger brother, a boy of little over fourteen years.
"No, Jacqueline, I am strong! A burden of this sort does not weary me!"
answered the boy, and he stoutly took a fresh grip on some large,
box-like object wrapped in a dark shawl, that they carried between them.
Up the steep sides of the hill they toiled, now lost to sight in the
grove of fruit trees, now emerging again near the grim walls of the old
battlement. Panting for breath yet laughing gaily, they placed the
burden on the ground, and sat down beside it to rest and look about
them. Before their eyes lay pictured the sparkling canal-streets of the
city, beyond whose limits stretched the fair, fertile plains of Holland,
and in the dim distance the blue line of the boundless ocean. Gysbert's
eyes grew misty with longing.
"Ah! if I had but brush and colors I would paint this," he sighed. "I
would paint it so that all the world would think they looked upon the
very scene itself!"
"Some day thou shalt have them, Gysbert, if thou dost but possess
thyself with patience," answered his sister, with the gentle yet
authoritative air of her three years' senority. "We will raise many
pigeons and train them. Then, when the price we have obtained from them
is sufficient, thou shalt buy an artist's outfit, and paint to thy
heart's content. Meantime thou must practice with thy charcoal and
pencil, and wait till the war is over."
Both sat silent for a while, each occupied with thoughts that were, in
all probability, very similar. The little word "war" recalled to them
memories, pictures, speculations and fears, all very painful and
puzzling. Neither one could remember the time when their peace-loving
land of the Netherlands had been allowed to pursue its avocations
unmolested by the terrible Spanish soldiery. From time immemorial had
these fair provinces been tightly grasped in the clutch of Spain. Now at
last they were awakening, rousing themselves from the long inaction, and
striking the first bold blows for liberty from the relentless oppressor.
Little did the children dream, as they sat looking out over the
beautiful city, that this same year of 1574, and this same Leyden were
to witness the great turning-point of the struggle.
"Look, look, Jacqueline! There is the church of Saint Pancras, and there
is our house in Belfry Lane. I can almost see Vrouw Voorhaas looking
from the window! Come, let us set free the pigeons!" And Gysbert, all
excitement, began to fumble with the wrappings of the bundle. Jacqueline
rose, threw back the two golden braids that had fallen across her
shoulders, and knelt down to superintend the work.
Very carefully they removed the dark shawl and laid it aside, disclosing
a box roughly fashioned like a cage, containing four pigeons. The
frightened birds fluttered about wildly for a moment, then settled down
cooing softly. When they had become accustomed to the daylight,
Jacqueline opened one side of the box, thrust in her arm, and drew
toward her a young pigeon of magnificent coloring, whose iridescent neck
glittered as if hung with jewels. The girl cuddled the bird gently under
her chin, and with one finger stroked his handsome head.
"Let us send 'William of Orange,' first," she said. "He is the finest,
strongest and wisest, and will lead the way. I am glad we named him
after our great leader."
"But the message!" Gysbert reminded her. "We must not forget that, or
good Vrouw Voorhaas will never know whether he got back first or not.
She cannot seem to remember one pigeon from another. Here, I will write
it." He drew from his pocket a tiny scrap of paper on which he hastily
scrawled:--"'William of Orange' brings greetings to Vrouw Voorhaas from
Jacqueline and Gysbert." This he wrapped about the leg of the bird and
tied it with a string. "Now, let him go!" he cried.
Jacqueline stood up, lifted the bird in both hands, and with a swift
upward movement, launched him into the air. The pigeon circled round and
round for a moment, then mounted up into the sky with a curious spiral
flight. When it was many feet above the children it suddenly changed its
tactics, spread its wings taut, and made straight in the direction of
Saint Pancras spire and Belfry Lane.
"Bravo! bravo!" they cried, watching intently till its sun-gilded wings
had all but faded from sight. "'William of Orange' is a true carrier
pigeon! Now for the rest!"
One after another they released the three remaining birds to whom they
had given the names 'Count Louis' and 'Count John' after the great
William of Nassau's two favorite brothers, and lastly 'Admiral Boisot.'
It seemed to be a fancy of the children to call their pets after their
famous generals and naval commanders.
"These are the finest pigeons we have raised," remarked Jacqueline as
she shaded her eyes to watch their flight. "None of the others can
compare with them, though all are good."
"Now we have twenty," added Gysbert, "and all have proved that they have
the very best training. No pigeons in the city are like ours, not even
old Jan Van Buskirk's. When shall we begin to hire them out as
messengers, Jacqueline?"
"Perhaps there will be an opportunity soon," answered the girl. "Now
that our city is no longer besieged we may have to bide our time. But no
one can tell what will happen next in these days. We must wait,
Gysbert."
"Come, come! let us be going," said her brother restlessly, "and see if
they all get back safely, and whether 'William of Orange' was first."
"No, let us stay awhile," replied Jacqueline. "It is pleasant and cool
up here, and the afternoon is long. Vrouw Voorhaas will let the birds
in, and tell us all about when they arrived. We may as well enjoy the
day."
She reseated herself and gazed off toward the blue line of the ocean,
shut out from the land by a series of dykes whose erection represented
years of almost incredible labor. The river Rhine making its way
sluggishly to the sea,--a very different Rhine from that of its earlier
course through Germany,--was almost choked off by the huge sand dunes
through which it forced its discouraged path. The girl's thoughtful mood
was infectious, and Gysbert, after rambling about idly for a time, came
and settled himself at her side.
"'Tis a strange hill, this, is it not, Jacqueline, to be rising right in
the middle of a city like Leyden? Why, there is nothing like it for
miles upon miles in this flat country! How came it here, I wonder?"
"Father used to tell me," said the girl, "that some think it was the
work of the Romans when they occupied the land many centuries ago, while
more declare that it was raised by the Anglo-Saxon conqueror Hengist.
That is why it is called 'Hengist Hill.'"
"How different it would have been for us if father had lived!" exclaimed
Gysbert, suddenly changing the subject. "It seems so long ago, and I was
so young that I do not remember much about him. Tell me what thou
knowest, Jacqueline. Thou art older and must remember him better."
"Yes, I was eleven," said Jacqueline with a dreamy look in her eyes,
"and thou wast only eight, when he went away and we never saw him
again. We had always lived in the city of Louvain, and father was a
professor of medicine in the big university there. Mother died when thou
wast but a little baby. I can just remember her as tall and pale and
golden-haired, and very gentle. Good Vrouw Voorhaas always kept house
for us, and we had a big house then,--a grand house,--and many servants.
"Father was so loving and so kind! He used to take me on his knee and
tell me many tales of Holland and the former days. I liked best those
about the beautiful Countess Jacqueline of Bavaria, after whom he said I
was named, and of how good and beloved she was, and how much she
suffered for her people.
"Then came the day when he disappeared--no one knew how or where for a
while--till the news reached Vrouw Voorhaas that he had been captured by
the cruel Duke of Alva and put to death. It was at the same time that
the young Count de Buren, the eldest son of our great William of
Orange, was kidnapped from the University where he was studying, and
taken a captive to Spain. We had little time to think of that outrage,
so great was our grief for our dear father. Vrouw Voorhaas dismissed all
the servants, closed the house and sold it, and we came to Leyden to
live in the little house in Belfry Lane, where we have been ever since."
The boy listened spellbound, though the recital was evidently one that
had been oft-repeated, but had never lost its mystery and sorrowful
charm.
"I was so little," he said at last, "I only remember our father as a
tall man with gray hair and beard, and very blue, twinkling eyes. It is
all like a dream to me! But is it not singular, Jacqueline, that Vrouw
Voorhaas will never talk about him to us, nor answer any questions when
we ask about him? And she has told us never to mention his name to
others, and has made us change our last name from Cornellisen to
Coovenden. I wonder why!"
"It is very strange," agreed Jacqueline, shaking her head, "and I do not
understand it myself. She told me once that I should know some day, and
till then must never question her." But the restless spirit had again
seized Gysbert, and he scrambled to his feet to make another tour around
the old fortress. Suddenly the girl was startled by his loud, insistent
shout:
"Jacqueline, Jacqueline! come here! There is something very odd coming
across the plains! Come quickly!" She rose and ran to the other side of
the hill where she found Gysbert shading his eyes with one hand. With
the other he pointed to a thin, dark, undulating line moving slowly in
the direction of the city, while here and there the sun caught a flash
of blue and white, as from waving banners. Jacqueline's cheeks grew
white.
"The Spaniards!" she breathed.
"The Spaniards indeed!" shouted Gysbert. "And coming to besiege the city
once more, when we thought they had left us for good and all. In five
hours at most, they will be here in front of the walls. We must run to
warn the Burgomaster Van der Werf to strengthen the defences and make
all speed to close the gates. There is not a moment to lose! Come!"
And without another thought but for the safety of the beautiful city,
the two children clasped hands and ran at top speed down the steep
hillside, in the direction of the great statehouse.
THE KING'S PARDON
CHAPTER II
THIS KING'S PARDON
A week had passed, and Leyden lay encircled by the Spanish army in a
state of close siege. Eight thousand troops under the Spanish commander
Valdez surrounded the city, sixty-two redoubts had been raised to
bombard its walls, and moreover, the number of the enemy was daily
increasing.
But _within_ the town were only a small corps of burgher guards, and
"freebooters" under the command of brave John Van der Does. Three
sources alone supplied the reliance of the beleaguered city,--their
trust in God, the stout hearts and willing hands of the inhabitants, and
the sleepless energy of Prince William of Orange, their heroic national
commander.
Jacqueline stood in the dove-cote one morning about eight days after
the trip to Hengist Hill, feeding her little troop of carrier pigeons.
Her golden hair fell over her shoulders in two shining braids, her eyes
sparkled, and her cheeks glowed with the pleasure of her occupation.
Upon her shoulders, her hands, and even her head perched the feathered
pets, so tame that they fairly disputed among themselves for the
privilege of her attention. The dove-cote was a room on the top floor of
the little house in Belfry Lane. The sun streamed in brightly through
the large open window, the walls were lined with boxes serving as nests,
and every detail of the room was, through the untiring efforts of
Jacqueline, as neat and immaculate as a new pin.
Suddenly the door opened and Gysbert, hatless and panting, stood on the
threshold.
"Ah, Jacqueline!" he exclaimed, with true artist's instinct. "What a
beautiful picture thou dost make, standing there in the sunlight with
the pigeons all around thee! Had I but time I would bring my pencil,
and sketch thee just as thou art. But hurry, hurry! The Burgomaster Van
der Werf is going to make a speech and read two proclamations from the
steps of the statehouse. Every one will be there. Come, we must get near
the front!"
"Yes, yes!" echoed Jacqueline, as eager as the boy. "Close thou the door
tightly, Gysbert, and we will hurry, that we may not miss a word. Ah, I
hope that the good William the Silent has sent the city a message!"
Out into the street they sallied, mingling with the crowd that was
surging toward the open square in front of the great statehouse. The
bells of Saint Pancras sounded the signal for a public meeting, and one
could read from each earnest, excited countenance, the importance that
was placed on being present in this crisis.
"Look!" cried Gysbert. "There is Jan Van Buskirk not far ahead. I
thought he was too ill with lumbago to leave his bed! See how he
hobbles along! Let us join him, Jacqueline." They ran ahead and caught
up with the old man, who greeted them cheerily, in spite of the pains
with which his poor bent body was racked.
"Yes, I managed to crawl out of my bed," he assured them. "'Tis
important that every one should attend these meetings in such a pass as
we are now. Think you we will hear word from William the Silent?"
"Aye, but I hope so, though I do not yet know certainly," answered the
boy. "We have received no word from him since the siege began. Surely he
will not desert us in this hour of need!"
"See, Gysbert!" whispered Jacqueline. "There is that evil-looking Dirk
Willumhoog across the street. Do not let us get near him. His very
appearance makes me shudder!" The girl shrank closer to her brother and
old Jan.
"Surely thou art not afraid of him, Jacqueline!" said Gysbert
scornfully. "'Tis true I detest him myself, but I fear him not. What
harm can he do us?"
"I do not know," replied his sister, "but there is that in his look that
makes me think he would harm us if he could!"
"Poof!" exclaimed Gysbert. "Did I not tell thee that he stopped me in
the street one day, and asked me who we were, and where we lived, and
who took care of us? I reminded him that it was naught of his affairs,
as far as I could see, and left him to scowl his ugly scowl as I walked
away whistling."
But the crowd had swept Dirk Willumhoog from their sight, and in a few
moments they found themselves in the great square surging with people,
and as fortune would have it, almost directly in front of the imposing
statehouse, from whose high, carved steps the proclamations were to be
read. They were not a moment too soon, and had but just pushed their way
to the front, near a convenient wall against which Jan might lean, when
Adrian Van der Werf, the dignified and honored Burgomaster of the city,
appeared on the stone steps high above the crowd. The Universal babel of
tongues immediately ceased, and the hush that followed was broken only
by the occasional booming of the Spanish guns battering at the walls of
the city. Then the Burgomaster began to speak:
"Men and women of Leyden, I am here to read to you two
proclamations,--one from our beloved William the Silent, Prince of
Orange-Nassau,--" here he was interrupted by loud and prolonged cheers
from the multitude, "--and one from His Majesty, King Philip the Second
of Spain." The absolute and scornful silence with which the people
received the last name was but a fitting indication of their hatred.
"I shall read the message from the Prince of Orange first." And while
the people listened in eager, respectful silence, he repeated to them
how their Prince and leader, whose headquarters were now at Delft and
Rotterdam, sympathized with them sincerely in their fresh trouble, and
how he deplored the fact that they had not followed his suggestion to
lay in large stocks of provisions and fortify their city while there had
been time in the months before the siege. The Prince reminded them that
they were now about to contend, not for themselves alone, but for all
future generations of their beloved land. The eyes of the world were
upon them. They would reap eternal glory, if they exhibited a courage
worthy of the cause of their liberty and religion. He implored them to
hold out for three months, in which time he would surely devise means
for their deliverance.
He warned them to take no heed of fair promises from the Spaniards if
they would surrender the city, reminding them of how these same soldiers
had behaved at the sieges of Naarden and Haarlem, when, in spite of
their declaration to let the citizens go out in peace, they had rushed
in and murdered every one as soon as the gates were opened. Finally, he
begged them to take a strict account of all the provisions in the city,
and be most saving and economical with food, lest it should fail them
before the siege was raised. When the message was ended the crowds
cheered themselves hoarse, and when the burgomaster inquired what word
they desired him to send the Prince, they shouted as with one voice:
"Tell him that while there is a living man left in the city we will
contend for our liberty and our religion!"
"And now," continued Adrian Van der Werf, "hear the proclamation of the
King of Spain. He invites all his erring and repentant subjects in the
Netherlands, and especially Leyden, to return to his service and he will
extend to them full forgiveness for all their crimes. He declares that
if any will lay down their arms, surrender themselves, and become his
loyal subjects once more, that they shall receive his pardon, and all
shall be forgotten. He has authorized General Valdez to say that if the
city will surrender at once, that the citizens shall be shown every
mercy." No sooner had the burgomaster ceased to speak, than old Jan Van
Buskirk raised his voice:
"It is a trap! Believe not in it!"
"Yes, yes! It is a trap!" stormed the multitude. "We will have none of
it! We will die to the last man, before we will surrender!"
"What right has that wretch of a Spanish King to offer _us_ pardon!"
growled Gysbert to his sister and Jan. "_He_ forgive us, indeed! And it
is he that has been doing all the wrong and committing all the crimes.
Many thanks to him, truly!"
"But what message is it your pleasure that I shall send in answer to
this?" asked the burgomaster.
"Tell him," roared Jan, who seemed to have constituted himself spokesman
for the people, "that the fowler plays sweet notes on his pipe, while
he spreads his net for the birds!"
"Aye, aye!" assented the crowd approvingly. "Tell him that!" "'Tis a
good answer," commented Van der Werf, "and I will send it as it stands.
Now who will take advantage of this pardon for himself? Let any who may
feel so inclined come forward at once, and they shall be sent out of the
gates to go their chosen ways in peace."
Another tense silence ensued. Each person stood his own ground stanchly,
and watched for any sign of wavering in his neighbor. Presently from out
the crowd there pushed a stout old man who finally gained the open space
before the burgomaster.
"I am a brewer of Utrecht," he announced. "I do not live in this city
and have no desire to maintain the siege. I wish to take advantage of
the King's pardon!"
"Be it as you wish, neighbor," answered Van der Werf. "Here are the
necessary papers. You shall pass out unmolested, at the opening of the
gate." The man received the papers, while the crowd looked on, muttering
in contemptuous undertones.
"And I," declared another who had shoved his way to the front, "will
also receive the pardon, if you please." Jacqueline grasped her
brother's arm convulsively.
"Dirk Willumhoog!" he whistled softly. "The city will be well rid of
him, to be sure, but what a coward!"
When the two men had been furnished with the proper credentials, the
burgomaster commanded them to proceed at once to the principal city
gate, where they would be dismissed to the Spanish army outside. But as
they made their way down the wide Breede Straat, the fury of the crowd
broke loose.
"Shame! Shame!" hissed the following throng. "Shame on the cowards who
desert their countrymen to join the despicable ranks of Spain! Thrice
shame on their accursed heads!" Straight to the walls of the city the
multitude pursued the fleeing men, now actually trembling for their
lives. The two children and old Jan, caught in the swirling throngs,
found themselves almost on the heels of the fugitives. Jan grunted and
spluttered his disapproval, but Gysbert seemed fairly boiling over in
his wrath, especially against Dirk Willumhoog.
The gate having been reached, it was opened but the smallest crack
available by the guarding soldiers. The brewer from Utrecht squeezed his
bulky form with difficulty through the narrow aperture, followed by the
howls of the crowd. But Gysbert could contain himself no longer.
Breaking away from his sister's grasp, he rushed up to the remaining
fugitive and shouted in his face:
"Shame on thee, Dirk Willumhoog, for a dog of a coward! Shame! shame!"
The man turned on him with so savage a countenance that Jacqueline could
not repress a frightened scream. The cry attracted the man's attention
to her also.
"You shall rue this, you two!" he vociferated. "You shall rue this day
forever,--and for more reasons than you now think! You shall rue it!"
And the closing gate shut his wicked features and his impotent rage from
their sight.
GYSBERT BECOMES A JUMPER
CHAPTER III
GYSBERT BECOMES A JUMPER
"Turn thy face a little more to the light, Jacqueline. I want to get a
full profile."
In the little living-room of the house in Belfry Lane, sat the two
children, on an evening a month after the events of the last chapter. On
one side of the table Vrouw Voorhaas bent over a huge pile of mending,
casting an occasional loving and solicitous glance at her two charges,
but otherwise quiet, silent and reserved. She was a woman of large,
almost masculine proportions, and her muscular frame knew not the
meaning of fatigue. Her features were plain and unprepossessing to a
degree, but nevertheless grave and intelligent. She was rarely known to
smile, and her manner was as that of one weighted down with a great
responsibility. Gysbert frequently told his sister that Vrouw Voorhaas
acted as though she had some dark secret on her mind, and Jacqueline was
forced to admit the truth of the remark. Her devotion to the children
was beyond question, yet she seldom exhibited any outward expression of
affection.
Jacqueline bent over a musty-looking old book, turning its pages
thoughtfully, and drawing her pretty brows together with a puzzled
expression at frequent intervals. Gysbert sat on the opposite side of
the table with pencil and paper before him, making a sketch of his
sister's head as she leaned over her book.
"What is it thou art reading so intently?" he demanded at length.
"'Tis an old volume that belonged to father's library,--the only book
that was not sold before we left Louvain," answered Jacqueline. Neither
she nor Gysbert noticed the startled glance with which Vrouw Voorhaas
raised her head at these words. Jacqueline continued:
"It seems to be all about medicine. Thou knowest how that subject
interests me, Gysbert. I long, when I grow up to practice the healing
art. I feel in some way as if the gift were in me."
"Poof!" said the boy. "Women are not fashioned to be physicians,--they
have other duties! Thou art mad, Jacqueline! Such business is not for
thee!"
"Ah! I know it is not considered a woman's business, and few if any have
tried it. Yet there is the famous Queen Marguerite of Navarre. They say
she is the wisest woman in France, for all she is so young, and knows
not only Latin, Greek and other languages, but much about medicine and
the healing art also! I have been reading in this old book, but I can
make little out of it, for there is much Latin in it, of which I
understand nothing. But it is my great hope that some day I shall study
all about it, even though I never become a physician."
While they were talking, Vrouw Voorhaas gathered up her work and without
a word, left the room. No sooner had she gone than Gysbert leaned across
the table, and spoke to his sister in a voice scarcely above a whisper:
"Jacqueline, now that Vrouw Voorhaas is out of the way, I want to tell
thee several things, some of which I learned to-day. One thing I have
fully made up my mind to do,--I am going to become a 'jumper'!"
"A 'jumper,' Gysbert! And what may that be?"
"Why, I might as well begin at the beginning and explain it all," he
answered. "Thou knowest the siege has lasted now for over a month, and
things are beginning to look black for us. There is no more bread in the
city, and but very little of the malt-cakes on which we are all now
living. Precious glad I am that we were fortunate enough to lay in an
extra stock of seeds for our pigeons, or we should soon be reduced to
feeding on _them_!
"Well, I was in the square before the statehouse this morning, and
through listening to and taking part in some of the gossip there, I
learned a few things. In the first place, our good William the Silent
cannot possibly raise a sufficient army to encounter the besieging
troops of the Spaniards, that's plain. Relief must come in some other
way, but how, God alone knows! However, our wonderful Prince is wise and
resourceful. Let us not despair, but trust him to save us, and do our
best to help.
"Jacqueline, I am going to do _my_ part! To-morrow I go to Burgomaster
Van der Werf, to offer myself as a 'jumper.' Let me tell thee what that
means. The Prince wants a few swift, skillful messengers who will go out
of the gates secretly, in some kind of disguise, and make their way
through the Spanish forces to him. Now I am young, I know, but I am big
and strong, and I know my way around the walls and outside the city as
well and perhaps better than anyone in Leyden. And I want to _do_
something! I can't sit around idle while all are helping in one way or
another. Why dost thou look so white and frightened, Jacqueline?"
"Ah, Gysbert! thou must _not_ do this! Thou wilt surely be captured and
killed. Ah! I cannot allow it, nor will Vrouw Voorhaas!"
"Vrouw Voorhaas must not know of it,--at least at first. And thou must
not interfere with me, dear sister. I know that our father, were he
alive, would approve of my decision. Did he not always tell us to be
courageous, and would he not wish us to serve our city in this great
distress?" This argument silenced Jacqueline's remonstrances.
"Do what thou wilt, Gysbert, since thou thinkest that our father would
approve, only be not rash, and have a care for thy life. What would I
do if thou wert taken from me, brother?"
"I will be most cautious, sister, never fear for that!"
"But how shall we keep it from Vrouw Voorhaas? She would lock thee in a
room and never let thee out, did she but dream of thy decision!"
"Thou mayst tell her that I am out helping with the defence of the city,
if I fail to come back for too long a period. That will be the strict
truth, yet not enough to alarm her seriously," answered Gysbert.
"How absurdly worried and careful she has been about us, since the day
we told her of the King's Pardon and Dirk Willumhoog! She turned deathly
white at the mention of his name, and I thought she was going to faint
when we told her what he said before he left the gate. Dost thou
remember, Gysbert?"
"Aye, but let me tell thee something else, Jacqueline. What dost thou
think of this? I saw Dirk Willumhoog in the city this morning!"
"Gysbert! thou art surely joking! That cannot be possible. Since he was
expelled from the city, how could he get back?"
"Ask me not how he got back, for I do not know. But the best of it is
that he did not see me, and he was so disguised that had it not been for
certain circumstances, I should never have known him. I had strolled up
Hengist Hill after leaving the Breede Straat, and had climbed into a
tree to get a better view of the Spanish army outside the walls. I was
sitting in the branches very quietly, when a man in a long cloak and big
slouching hat came out of the grove and sat down right under my tree.
Thinking himself alone, he took off his hat, threw aside his cloak, and
then to my great surprise, pulled off the thick beard that covered his
face!
"'Ah, but it is hot!' I heard him mutter. Then he stood up and stretched
his arms, and I all but lost my hold and fell out of the tree when I
recognized who it was! He sat down again and rested for half an hour,
and I thought he would never go. Fortunately he did not once think of
looking up or he would have certainly seen me. At last he donned his
beard, hat and cloak, and sneaked off never dreaming who had watched his
every movement! I would give a good round florin to know what he is
after!"
"Ah, I am sure it is some harm to us, he is plotting!" shuddered
Jacqueline. "Dost thou recall his look of hate on that dreadful day,
Gysbert? He has some reason for wishing us evil."
"That may or may not be," answered Gysbert. "At any rate, I think he can
do us but little harm. However, thou shouldst be careful about going
abroad in the city alone, Jacqueline. Thou art not as strong as I."
"I go nowhere except to purchase our small allowance of food--thou
knowst Vrouw Voorhaas never goes out at all now--and to visit poor Jan
Van Buskirk once a day, and take him some soothing medicine. He says
that nothing helps him like the decoction of my herbs, and nothing
charms away his pain like the touch of my hands. Dost thou know,
Gysbert, that he has been obliged to kill and eat most of his pigeons
since food has been so short? I know not what he will do when they are
gone!"
"We will share our food with him, Jacqueline. He has always been so kind
to us, and taught us how to raise and train our pigeons. But now, let us
to rest! It is late, and I must see Burgomaster Van der Werf early
to-morrow."
Poor Jacqueline's sleep that night was restless and tormented by
frightful dreams in which Gysbert's new and dangerous vocation, and the
evil face of Dirk Willumhoog bore no inconspicuous part. Gysbert, on the
contrary, slept sweetly and undisturbed as a year old baby, and rose
next morning betimes to seek what fortune he should meet in this new
enterprise.
Adrian Van der Werf sat alone in his great office in the statehouse. His
fine face was clouded with an expression of intense gloom, and he shook
his head gravely as he looked out over the besieged city. Was this fair
spot to fall a prey to Spanish vengeance, as its sister cities had
fallen? He saw no hope in present prospects, for a better fate.
Presently an official opened the door and saluted him:
"A small boy outside wishes to speak with your Worship."
"Admit him," answered the burgomaster. "I am not engaged at present."
Glancing up as Gysbert entered, his face lighted with a smile of
recognition.
"Ah! thou art the boy who warned us of the approach of the Spaniards!
Thou art a brave and thoughtful lad. What can I do for thee?"
"Your Worship, I have a request to make," answered Gysbert promptly. "I
wish to serve my city by becoming a 'jumper?'"
"A jumper--_thou_! But thou art scarce fourteen years of age, if I judge
rightly. It would be wicked to expose one so young to such dangers!"
exclaimed the astonished burgomaster.
"Aye, your Worship, you have guessed my age correctly. But I am strong
and agile, and know the walls and outlying districts well. Moreover, I
have a plan that I trust will take me safely through the Spanish lines."
"And what may be that plan!" demanded Van der Werf, more and more
amazed.
"This," answered the boy. "I shall stain my skin and hair darker with
walnut juice, that I may not be recognized. And pretending to be
somewhat half-witted, I shall go out among the Spanish troops peddling
healing herbs. My sister raises many such in her little garden and has
taught me much of their use. In this way I can most likely get through
the lines, unsuspected and unmolested, and deliver any message to your
faithful ones who are beyond."
"It is a clever scheme!" admitted the wondering burgomaster. "And if
thou dost act thy part well, thou wilt be fairly safe."
"Likewise," added Gysbert, "I have some carrier pigeons that have been
exceedingly well-trained, and perchance could make them of use also."
"The very thing!" exclaimed Van der Werf. "Our stock of carrier pigeons
waxes very low, having either died of starvation, or been eaten. I have
been wondering where I should find well-fed, well-trained birds to fill
their place. Canst thou take a couple at a time with thee? I must needs
send some to William the Silent at Delft, else we will get no more
messages from him."
"Aye, I can bind two and take them at the bottom of my bag of herbs,"
answered Gysbert. "I will wager for it that they shall be delivered
safely." Adrian Van der Werf spent a moment in silent consideration.
"Thou art a brave and clever youth," he said. "But thou must know that
thou art risking much in this hazardous enterprise. However, God will
watch over those who serve Him. Come to me to-morrow bringing two
carrier pigeons, and I will instruct thee as to the message." And
Gysbert, highly pleased, departed for Belfry Lane, whistling lustily one
of the popular songs of the day:
"Beat the drums gaily,
"Bub-dub a dub-dee!
"Beat the drums gaily,
"And the Spaniards will flee!"
IN THE CAMP OF THE ENEMY
CHAPTER IV
IN THE CAMP OF THE ENEMY
In the cold gray mist of earliest dawn, Gysbert crept silently through
one of the city gates. So changed was his appearance that his own sister
would scarcely have known him, had she not assisted in effecting his
disguise, late the night before. His straight light hair had assumed a
dark brown color, and his fresh rosy complexion had suddenly become as
swarthy as any Spaniard's. His Dutch blouse, cap and wooden sabots were
exchanged for garments of a more foreign cut, and in his hand he bore a
large bag of assorted herbs, both green and dried.
Thanks to an almost daily study of the Spanish camp from his perch on
Hengist Hill, he had selected the most favorable quarter for his egress
through the enemies' ranks--the situation farthest removed from the
headquarters of commander Valdez.
The camp had very much the appearance of a little city of mushroom
growth--rows upon rows of tents, and here and there a hut of larger
proportions hastily constructed of boards. In the middle of one tented
street had been erected a rude shrine protected by an awning, at which
knelt a priest celebrating the early morning mass. The tinkle of the
silver bell calling to service was the only sound that broke the
silence. Gysbert proceeded cautiously, rejoicing at every step that took
him unmolested on his way, when suddenly a rough command arrested his
progress:
"Halt! The password! What art thou doing here?"
"_Requesens!_" answered Gysbert glibly, thanking his stars that the
burgomaster had not failed to inform him of the Spanish password for the
day. Van der Werf had two or three trusted spies in the Spanish army,
who kept him well posted as to their daily plans and watchwords.
"_Requesens!_ is correct enough," replied the sentinel, "but who art
thou, and where art thou going so early?"
"I am a Glipper," answered Gysbert in a sing-song nasal voice. "I come
from the city. We are starving there. I sell these healing herbs in
order to get some food." Now a Glipper was the name given to any
Hollander who sympathized with Spain, and they were as a rule very
favorably regarded by the Spaniards. Gysbert, being naturally truthful,
disliked exceedingly to thus falsify himself, but consoled his
conscience with the motto--'All's fair in war.' The sentinel looked him
over suspiciously, but concluded that he had not the appearance of a
genuine, out-and-out Dutch boy. Moreover, it was evident from his speech
and expression that he was not blessed with more than half the usual
quantity of wits.
"Well, little fool, I will let thee pass, provided thou wilt supply me
with something healing for this wound in my hand where the gunpowder
from my musket burned me, yesterday morn." Gysbert hunted in his bag,
brought out a small bundle of dried leaves, and recited as if by rote:
"Thou shalt steep these in boiling water. Thou shalt make a poultice
with the leaves thus steeped. Thou shalt bind it on thy wound. In two
days thou shalt be better."
"Thanks, little numbskull! Thy poultice and not thy wits have saved
thee! And now, cut away quickly!" Availing himself not too hastily of
the permission, Gysbert strolled away as if there were not a thought of
danger in his mind. But no sooner was he out of sight of the sentinel
than he took to his heels and ran swiftly and silently through the still
sleeping camp.
"If only I can reach the outskirts before they waken, all will be well!"
he thought. Once again only, at the edge of the encampment, he was
challenged by another sentry. But the password given, he was allowed to
go on without question, by a sentinel whose one sleepy thought was the
bed into which he hoped soon to turn. Once on the high-road to Delft,
Gysbert's troubles were for the time over, and he abandoned himself to a
leisurely walk, and to the enjoyment of his breakfast, a stale malt-cake
which he munched contentedly as he trudged along.
Then the sun rose, the morning mist evaporated, and the waters of the
canal sparkled like jewels in the clear air of the July day. A lazy boat
with one big brown sail edged its way slowly along the canal in the
direction of Delft.
"I might as well save my strength," argued Gysbert to himself, "and what
is more, I have time in quantities to spare. Hi!--Herr Captain, I pray
you take me on your gallant bark!" The captain looked up from a sail he
was mending, and scanned the boy from head to foot.
"I like thee not," he answered. "Thou hast too much of the Spaniard
about thee, little frog! Thine own two good feet can carry thee!"
Gysbert was secretly delighted that his disguise was so effective, but
hastened to add:
"Good Herr Captain, you are much mistaken. Look you!" And from the
bottom of his bag he pulled out two pigeons bound and helpless.
"These be carriers!" he announced. "I am commissioned by Burgomaster Van
der Werf to take them to our Prince at Delft. Also I have a message, but
that is in my mind." Instantly the captain's surly manner changed.
"Come aboard! Come thou aboard!" he called heartily. "Thou art a small
lad but a clever one. Here, catch this plank!" In two minutes Gysbert,
comfortably ensconced in the stern, had curled himself up to finish the
morning nap, with which his early expedition had seriously interfered.
In due time this easy-going vessel reached the Gate St. Catherine, the
principal entrance to Delft, and Gysbert disembarking, thanked the
good-natured captain for his assistance.
"No thanks to me, youngster," replied the man. "It's all for the good
cause, and my name is Joris Fruytiers, shouldst thou ever meet me and
need my help again."
Gysbert set off with all speed to the _Prinsenhof_, the palace where
William the Silent held his headquarters. One of the boy's greatest
desires in life was to see and speak with this great Father of his
country, the Prince of Orange, who had been for several years his hero
and idol. Hence his errand was all the more delightful to him since it
was to afford him this coveted opportunity.
But this time he was doomed to disappointment. The Prince was away at
Rotterdam, and his commissioner, Paul Buys, took the message in his
stead. It was to the effect that the people of Leyden implored immediate
help. They were on the point of facing starvation, and feared lest the
weaker ones would lose courage and yield up the city. Paul Buys sent
word back to Van der Werf that the Prince of Orange was on the point of
putting into execution a scheme of release that he had long been
considering, and would send word by one of the carrier pigeons when he
was ready to put it into effect.
Buys then told Gysbert that hereafter he would not have to come as far
as Delft with the pigeons, but could leave them at the farmhouse of
Julius Van Shaick, not far beyond Leyden, from whence they would be
conveyed to Delft in safety. Before the boy left for his homeward
journey, Buys superintended him in the disposal of such a meal as he had
not seen for many a long day, and he sighed only that he could not
convey some of it to Jacqueline and Vrouw Voorhaas.
Trusting to no slow-moving canal vessel, but relying mainly on the
swiftness of his strong young legs, he accomplished the fifteen miles
back to Leyden in four hours, and at nightfall reached once more the
outskirts of the Spanish camp. But his passage through the enemy's midst
was not destined to be as uneventful as that of the morning.
The camp streets were bustling with life and activity. Soldiers
promenaded up and down, women--the few who had chosen to follow their
husbands' fortunes--called to each other shrilly from the tent-doors,
and even some children ran hither and thither in garments of startling
untidiness. Gysbert hoped to escape notice in the general confusion, but
in this he was mistaken. A sudden hand was laid in no gentle manner on
his shoulder, and a voice from behind demanded:
"The password!"
"_Requesens!_" he replied confidently.
"In that thou art much in error!" answered the soldier. "Dost thou think
that the password does not change from day to day? Thou art twelve
hours too late. Come thou with me!" and he led Gysbert to the door of a
tent which was empty and lighted only by a large fire outside.
"Here, Alonzo de Rova!" he called to a burly sentinel. "Guard this young
interloper till I have time to report him to Commander Valdez."
"Now," thought Gysbert, "I _am_ caught in earnest! But without seeming
to possess any wits, I will try to use those the good God has given me
as skillfully as I can." Alonzo de Rova paced up and down before the
tent door for a time, apparently utterly ignoring the boy, yet in
reality watching him keenly.
Gysbert on his part kept his eyes well open, yet assumed the vacant gaze
he had attempted in the morning. Presently he took up a charred stick
from the fire that happened to lie near him, and with it commenced to
make some strokes on the white canvas of the tent.
"What art thou doing?" demanded De Rova, and he drew near curiously to
examine the marks.
"Why, by the Pope!" he exclaimed. "It is myself--my very self as I stand
here with my musket! Thou canst indeed draw, little stranger! Who art
thou?"
"I am a Glipper," repeated Gysbert monotonously. "I sell healing herbs.
I also can draw."
"Art thou indeed a Glipper? Well, that is not so bad! And look thou
here! Canst draw a good portrait of me on fine paper?"
"Aye, I can!" answered Gysbert in his adopted nasal tone.
"Well, thou hast evidently not all the wits that God usually gives us,
but thou shalt try," said De Rova, and he drew from his belongings a
sheet of paper, and what stood for a pencil in those days.
[Illustration: Gysbert draws the Portrait of Alonzo de Rova]
"Draw me well, little Glipper! Make of me a fine figure, for I wish to
send it to my sweetheart in Madrid, and we will see what can be done for
thee!" Drawing himself up to his full height he assumed a martial
position, ready for the likeness. He was truly a splendid specimen of a
soldier, and evidently very proud of his magnificent proportions.
Gysbert seized the pencil and paper, and went to work with a will. Never
had he striven so hard to give satisfaction, never had so much been at
stake, never had his art stood him in such good stead. When the picture
was finished Alonzo de Rova was profuse in expressing his wonder and
delight, and slipped a coin into the boy's hand.
"And now, little artist, fly! Slip away under the back of the tent, when
I am not looking and no one will be the wiser. The captain who caught
thee is a good friend of mine, and beside I will tell him thou art a
Glipper. Remember Alonzo de Rova, and if thou dost ever come to the camp
again I will put thee in the way of earning a pretty penny, for there
are many like me who would gladly sit for their portraits. I doubt not
but that thou couldst make a florin a day at that work. One more word
of advice--the password for to-night is _Phillip_. Farewell!" With that
he turned his back on the boy and commenced pacing up and down before
the fire.
Gysbert lost not a moment's time, but acting on the friendly soldier's
suggestion slipped out through a loose flap at the back of the tent.
Thanks to the now dense darkness and his knowledge of the password, he
escaped safely through the camp to the Cow Gate, where giving a peculiar
knock previously concerted between himself and the gatekeeper, he once
more stood secure within the city walls. Speeding homeward to Belfry
Lane he murmured to himself:
"I have accomplished the mission without mishap, and have also made two
friends. On the whole, I think I have not done so badly!"
THE DECISION OF JACQUELINE
CHAPTER V
THE DECISION OF JACQUELINE
On the morning of Gysbert's first venture into the midst of the enemy,
Jacqueline rose with a very heavy heart. She helped her brother with the
last preparations for his departure, aided him in escaping the vigilant
eye of Vrouw Voorhaas who was already at work though the hour was so
early, and bade him a tearful farewell as he sped down the silent
street. But her mind was full of foreboding, and she felt as though she
could never live through the time till he should return in safety. To
pass the weary hours and otherwise occupy her thoughts, she assisted
Vrouw Voorhaas with the daily routine of housework, cleaned the
pigeon-house, and fed her eighteen remaining pets with a scanty supply
of their rapidly diminishing stock of corn.
Vrouw Voorhaas had many questions to ask concerning the whereabouts of
Gysbert whom she had not seen that day. Jacqueline parried these as best
she could, explaining that he had gone off early to execute some errands
for Burgomaster Van der Werf. Her companion, unconvinced that all was as
it should be, and vaguely uneasy about her youngest charge, accepted the
explanation somewhat distrustfully. To change the subject Jacqueline
began to talk about their supply of food and to make plans for
husbanding it to the last crumb. While she was talking her gaze suddenly
riveted itself on the tall form of the older woman.
"Why Vrouw Voorhaas," she exclaimed, "how thin thou art growing! See,
thy dress dost hang about thee in great folds, and thine arms almost
show the bones! Surely we have not yet come to the pass when such loss
of flesh would be noticeable! What hast thou been doing?"
"Nothing, nothing, child!" exclaimed the woman hastily. "I eat as
heartily as our supply of food will permit, but the hot weather always
did reduce my flesh. Hurry away now, and see what thou canst purchase at
the market, but try not to be seen too prominently. Young people are not
too safe in the streets in these wild times. Art going to visit old Jan
to-day?"
"Yes," answered Jacqueline. "He grows worse and worse, though I do my
best to aid him. There seems to be something else ailing him beside just
his lumbago, but I cannot quite make out what it is, and he will not see
a physician. I will go out and gather some fresh herbs now to take with
me."
The girl took her little basket and went out to her patch of garden at
the back of the house. Gay flowers bloomed in one half of it, but the
other was devoted to the cultivation of the medicinal herbs whose
healing properties she had carefully studied in the old book belonging
to her father. First she gathered a sweet-smelling bouquet of late roses
and jasmine to cheer the eyes of old Jan, and then stooping among the
herbs selected those most calculated to help his poor infirm body. When
this was done she re-entered the house, added some malt-cakes and a
bottle of Vrouw Voorhaas's cooling homemade wine, and proceeded on her
errand of comfort.
Jan Van Buskirk's home was on a tiny street just off the
Marendorfstrasse, and to reach it Jacqueline was obliged to take a
rather circuitous route that led through the poorest section of the
city. What she saw there on that day tore her gentle heart with an agony
of sympathy. The weather was extremely hot and oppressive, and every one
seemed to have sought the coolness of the shaded street in preference to
the little suffocating rooms. Pale, emaciated children thronged the
doorways, many gnawing on dry unsightly bones from which the last
vestige of meat had long since disappeared. Sick babies wailed
fretfully, white, haggard men and women strove in vain to comfort them.
And here and there lay stretched on an improvised cot the form of some
person desperately ill, moaning piteously. Jacqueline contrasted the
scene with these same comfortable, happy people of a few months before
and her heart grew rebellious at the mighty suffering entailed in just
the little word "war." "Is there no help,--no help for it?" she asked
herself.
Jan Van Buskirk was worse, unquestionably worse than when she had
visited him before, and his condition alarmed her seriously. He was
tossing from side to side, rolling his head feverishly, and muttering
incoherent words; nor did he seem in the least to recognize his little
friend. Jacqueline quietly determined that it was high time he had more
expert medical advice than she could offer, and went out hastily to
seek the nearest physician. Dr. Pieter de Witt was hard to find for his
duties were long and arduous in these dreadful days, but finally she
discovered him in the house of a poor family all sick but the mother who
could hardly drag herself around. Hearing Jacqueline's errand he made
haste to accompany her. One glance at the unconscious Jan told him the
tale.
"My girl," he said, turning to Jacqueline, "go away from here as
speedily as thou canst. This man has the plague. It has broken out in
several parts of the city, owing to bad food or none at all, and this
man has caught it. Thou art exposing thyself to a terrible disease and
almost certain death. This is no place for thee. Go home, and I will
take care of the man to the best of my ability, but I doubt if he will
live, even so."
Jacqueline's eyes opened wide with a startled look, and she glanced
uncertainly at Jan. The sick man stirred restlessly, then with a sudden
cry muttered her name in his feverish sleep. At that word the girl
formed her decision.
"I will not go, Dr. de Witt. This man has been a friend to me and mine
ever since I can remember. I do not fear the plague, and even if I did
it would not keep me from giving all the aid I could to Jan Van Buskirk.
Moreover, I know a little about medicine myself, having read it in an
old book in my possession. I have raised healing herbs, and I also
possess one which has the power, they say, to protect from such diseases
if carried about the person. I will always have it by me, for I wish to
help you in nursing this my friend back to life and health." Dr. de Witt
looked her over for a moment in silent astonishment. Then he spoke:
"Thou art a brave maiden, whoever thou art, and I would that there were
many more like thee! Help me thou shalt if such is thy determination,
and the good God will bless thee and protect thee from all harm. There
is much in having absolutely no fear of this contagion, and I see thou
hast none. With thy help we may perhaps save our old friend and
neighbor." Together they labored over the old man, and before he left,
the doctor expressed his amazed approval of the skill and knowledge
exhibited by this fair slip of a girl in tending and administering to
the sick. Beyond this too, something in her manner, her look and her
speech indefinably recalled to him old recollections.
"Thou dost constantly put me in mind of some one," he remarked finally.
"Hadst thou ever any relation who was a physician? What is thy father?"
"I have no father," answered the girl with the reticence she had learned
to exhibit through Vrouw Voorhaas's teaching. "He is long since dead."
"But what is thy last name?" persisted the good doctor.
"Coovenden," replied Jacqueline with the hesitancy she could never
quite overcome in pronouncing this assumed title.
"Coovenden? Ah, it is not a name that I recognize--and yet there is
something,--I know not what, which stirs me!" And he went away shaking
his head thoughtfully. On her way home Jacqueline stopped at the public
market to purchase what scarce supply of provisions she was able to
obtain.
"But this is a miserable little cabbage!" she expostulated mildly to the
huckster who served her. "And see! this mutton-bone has scarce any meat
upon it. 'Twill be watery soup that is made from this mess!"
"And lucky thou art to have any soup at all!" answered the market-woman.
"I tell thee, girl, the time is coming when we shall be glad to eat the
grass that grows in the streets, and that's not far distant, either. I,
for one would gladly see the gates opened to the Spaniards. They are
better at least than slow starvation!" Jacqueline shrank away from her
at these words so like disloyalty to the great cause, and hurried home
with the news she had to tell.
As the day wore on, Vrouw Voorhaas became more and more uneasy about
Gysbert, and questioned his sister so closely about his absence that she
had hard work quieting the woman's fears and at the same time hiding the
truth about him. She herself was beset by more definite terrors for his
safety than Vrouw Voorhaas could even guess, and though she did not
expect Gysbert before nightfall, counted the moments with
ever-increasing agitation.
Then darkness came and the two partook of their frugal supper, laying
aside a generous portion for the boy. One by one the stars twinkled out.
Jacqueline, sitting by the window tried to count them to distract her
thoughts. Her mind reverted again and again to the scenes of the
morning, and the pictures of the suffering she had witnessed would not
fade from her consciousness. As she sat leaning her head against the
casement, she was suddenly startled by having two hands clapped over her
eyes, and a voice whispering in her ear:
"Guess who it is!"
"Gysbert!" she exclaimed. "How didst thou get in?"
"Hush! I slipped in through the garden and climbed to my window up the
rose-trellis. I did not want Vrouw Voorhaas to see my disguise, and have
washed it all off and changed my clothes. Where is she?"
"In her room," answered his sister, "and right anxious about thee, I can
warrant! But tell me all about it, Gysbert!"
In hasty sentences the boy told her of his day's adventures. She
listened with breathless interest, and shuddered not a few times at the
narrowness of his escapes. Then she recounted to him her own
experiences, and told of Jan Van Buskirk's illness and danger. When she
had finished they sat together in the darkness for a long time without
speaking. Finally Jacqueline took her brother's hand in hers and said:
"Gysbert, thine own bravery and the dark scenes I have witnessed to-day
have set me thinking, and to-night I have made my resolve. Since thou
hast given thyself to the dangerous task of assisting our beloved city,
I, too, can do no less than devote myself to the relief of some of its
suffering. To-morrow I shall seek Dr. de Witt and ask him to allow me to
accompany him in his visits to the sick and starving. I can aid in
nursing them, at least, since God has given me that power."
Gysbert returned his sister's clasp, but continued in silence for some
moments. Truth to tell, he was struggling with a lump that had risen in
his throat, and was glad that the darkness hid the tears that had
gathered under his lashes. The experience of the last few days and weeks
had helped to give him a poise beyond his years, but his admiration for
his sister's quiet courage almost deprived him of words with which to
express it. Presently, however, he got up and put his arms around her
neck.
"Jacqueline," he said, trying to master the huskiness in his voice,
"thou art very brave. I would rather go ten times into the heart of the
Spanish army, than once into a room with the plague. But thou art right.
It is thy destined work since thou hast chosen it, and our father, were
he here, would surely say, 'Well done!'"
THE COMING OF THE FIRST PIGEON
CHAPTER VI
THE COMING OF THE FIRST PIGEON
The middle of August found the conditions in Leyden in no way improved
but rather the worse, being just so many weeks nearer starvation. The
poor had reached a point where they were indeed glad to get what
nourishment they might from the grass that grew in the streets, and even
the leaves from the trees that shaded the canals. Even the rich now
suffered from the scantiness of provisions, and were fain to draw in
their belts tightly to lessen the gnawing of constant hunger.
Jacqueline and Gysbert had lost their fresh, rosy complexions and the
roundness of their youthful curves, and looked white and thin. Yet they
still fared better than some. Gysbert had made seven trips through the
Spanish lines, each time bearing away two carrier pigeons, and bringing
back when he could, a little supply of fresh food in his bag. The six
remaining birds they had decided to kill and eat, one a week, so that
they might have at least a taste of fresh untainted meat occasionally.
It had cost Jacqueline many a pang to thus sacrifice her pets, but she
could not see her dear ones suffer when it was in her power to give them
food.
Gysbert's latest excursion outside the city walls had been successful,
and without any of the excitement that had attended his first trip. He
had chosen an entirely different quarter through which to pass, had met
with either a friendly reception or indifference from those he met, and
who freely purchased his herbs. He was taken without question for a
Glipper, as he had announced himself to be, and his presence soon became
a familiar figure in their midst. Then too, these expeditions were of
much shorter duration than his first, since instead of travelling all
the way to Delft, he had only to leave his message and the pigeons at
the farmhouse of Julius Van Schaick, a short distance from the city. He
had thus far managed also to escape the vigilance of Vrouw Voorhaas, who
now accepted without question the explanation of his executing errands
for the burgomaster.
And what of Jacqueline? Plague now raged through all the poorer sections
of the city,--a dread disease brought on by improper nourishment or none
at all. Dr. de Witt and Jacqueline went their daily rounds, cheering,
comforting, and administering medicine and nourishment on every side.
Never was a presence more welcome in a sick room than that of the slim,
fair girl whom many in their delirium took to be an angel. Never was a
touch more deft, light and soothing than hers.
By her tender care, Jan Van Buskirk had been nursed through the awful
scourge. He was still as weak as a baby, yet able to crawl about his
room listlessly, and inquire after the progress of the siege. His
admiration for, and devotion to the girl who had brought him safely
through his peril was beyond all expression, and he did little else when
she was near, than follow her with his eyes in an ecstasy of dumb
admiration.
Vrouw Voorhaas utterly disapproved of Jacqueline's mission to the sick,
and spared no pains to make her disapproval known. She was constantly in
terror lest the girl herself should become infected, and scolded,
muttered and sighed whenever Jacqueline prepared to go out. But the
young girl's determination was too firm to be shaken by the older
woman's expostulations, and her interest and devotion to the work had
grown with her increasing responsibility. Dr. de Witt secretly marvelled
at her quiet firmness, skill, and unflinching courage. More and more did
he rack his brains to elucidate the mystery of her strange resemblance
to someone he had once known or seen, but without result.
"Jacqueline, come up to Hengist Hill with me," said Gysbert one hot,
oppressive day about the twentieth of August. "Thou dost look white and
tired, and needest a little change of air, and besides I want to talk to
thee."
"Ah, Gysbert, the day is too hot, and I am very tired! Let us rest here
in the house instead," replied the girl wearily.
"Nay, the air is fresh and cool on the hill, and I have yet another
reason for the expedition. Come with me and thou wilt not regret it."
Yielding to his wish, Jacqueline accompanied him through the blazing,
sun-baked streets, striving for once not to see the misery that now lay
open to the daylight all about them. But Gysbert was right,--the Hill
was a decided improvement on the heated atmosphere of the town. The
grove was cool and pleasant and a refreshing breeze swept the summit.
They sat down in the shadow of the old fortress, and drew in great
breaths of the life-giving salt air.
"Ah, it is good to be here!" exclaimed Gysbert. "Art thou not glad we
came, Jacqueline? And now let me ask a question. Answer truly! What hast
thou had to eat to-day?"
"Oh, I had plenty!" answered the girl evasively. "The weather is so hot
that I cannot eat much."
"Now, look thou here!" he replied. "For breakfast this morning we had
some watery gruel of our pigeon grain, and a thin slice of malt-cake
apiece. I saw thee eat the gruel, but the cake disappeared quickly in
some mysterious way. Jacqueline, didst thou save it to take to Jan?"
"Well, yes, I suppose so," she faltered, cornered so cleverly that she
could not deny it.
"Very well!" replied Gysbert with decision. "Then I will tell him the
next time I go there, that thou art starving thyself to feed him!"
"No, no, Gysbert!" she cried in genuine alarm, "thou must not do that!
It would grieve him unto death, for I have told him that we have
plenty."
"Ah! does that worry thee? Then if thou wilt do something to please
_me_, I promise not to tell him."
"Yes, yes," said Jacqueline eagerly. "Anything, Gysbert, will I do if
thou wilt only keep that secret!" The boy did not answer, but running to
the wall of the fortress, lifted a good-sized stone and took from the
hollow underneath something which he brought to his sister. It was the
legs and body of a wild rabbit which had been prepared and cooked
evidently before an open fire.
"Why, Gysbert!" exclaimed Jacqueline in astonishment. "Where didst thou
get this?"
"I brought down the rabbit with a stone, here on the Hill early this
morning. Then I skinned him, dressed him, built a fire and roasted him
before it, and hid him away in a cool place for our treat this
afternoon. Thou must eat exactly half of it now, or I will tell Jan all
about thy deception."
"But Vrouw Voorhaas!" said the girl, doubtfully. "We ought to take some
of it to her."
"Nay," he answered. "I have watched her, and I know what she does, also.
She would thank us and put it aside, only to present it to us at another
meal, saying she could not eat it herself. And what is more, she never
would eat it, if we left it till it rotted away, so we might just as
well finish it now."
Together they divided the doubtful dainty, and devoured it as though it
were the perfection of epicurean cookery; never did a meal taste sweeter
to these half-famished children, as they sat nibbling the last vestige
of meat from the bones, and feeling new life renewed within them.
"Now," said Gysbert, when they had finished, "let me tell thee all about
my last trip through the besieging lines yesterday, and the messages I
bore. Mynheer Van der Werf sent very discouraged word to our good Prince
of Orange. The city, he said, was on the brink of starvation, the bread
was gone, and the malt-cakes would hold out but four days more.
Moreover, the people had fulfilled the promise made in the beginning of
the siege,--they had held out two months with food and one month
without, and human strength could do no more.
"Mynheer Paul Buys, himself, was at the farmhouse and took the message
and the pigeons. He said the number of birds was now sufficient and I
need bring no more unless these should all return before the siege was
over. Then he sent by word of mouth, this reply to the burgomaster. 'The
Prince begs you to hold out a few days more, as his scheme for relief
has already begun to be put into execution. In a day or two a carrier
pigeon will come from him telling all about it.'
"Jacqueline, I have guessed what that relief is going to be! A few
chance words dropped by Mynheer Buys and an exclamation from the
burgomaster has made me certain of it. Ah! it is a great thought,--great
indeed!--and like our wonderful Prince to dare it. Canst thou imagine
what it is?"
"Nay," said the girl, wonderingly, "I cannot."
"Look!" cried Gysbert, pointing in the direction of the ocean. "Dost
thou see that huge bulk across the Rhine about five miles from here?
That is the greatest outer barrier, the Land-scheiding. See how it keeps
back the ocean? Dost thou guess now what is happening?"
"Not,--" hesitated the girl, "not that the dykes have been pierced!"
"Just that! just that!" cried her brother. "Is it not wonderful? The
Prince is calling the ocean to his aid, since he cannot raise an army.
The Spaniards will drown like rats in a tank!" Jacqueline looked
doubtful, and not quite convinced.
"But the land!" she said. "It will ruin all the farms and crops between
here and the ocean. And think of all the labor that has been spent on
the dykes to shut out the sea. When will they ever be able to rebuild
these barriers and shut out the waters?"
"That will all come in good time," he replied. "First, it is most
important to get rid of this Spanish pest. Did I not hear Mynheer Van
der Werf himself mutter, 'Better a drowned land than a lost one!' It was
this exclamation that put me on the track."
"Dost say that the Prince sends word that the scheme is already begun?"
asked Jacqueline.
"Yes, and I think I know what he has done. Mynheer Buys was telling me
that he has but lately been to Kappelle and Schiedam. I will wager that
they have pierced the dykes all the way from here to Rotterdam, and even
as far as Kappelle. But the tide does not rise high at this time of the
year, and there is only an east wind, so that the water flows in slowly.
But see! see!" and he pointed far off in the sky, where a tiny speck
floated,--a mere golden moat in the sunshine. "I feel certain that is one
of our pigeons, Jacqueline. He flies like 'William of Orange.'"
"Thou hast good eyes, Gysbert! I can see nothing but a faint speck. Let
us watch it, though." Together they waited in breathless suspense, while
the speck drew nearer and assumed more definite shape.
"Look how the left wing droops a trifle. I _know_ that is 'William of
Orange'!" cried Gysbert. In an incredibly short time the bird had passed
the limits of the city wall, had drawn closer and closer, and at last
passed directly over their heads.
So close to the summit of the Hill was its flight that they could
faintly hear the whir of its wings. When it was close above them, all
doubt as to its identity vanished, and besides, it was making straight
in the direction of Belfry Lane. Without waiting a moment they rushed
down the hill, their bodies refreshed by their meal of none too well
cooked rabbit meat, their courage restored by the hope of speedy
deliverance for the city.
They found when they reached the house that the pigeon had been long
before them, Vrouw Voorhaas declaring that she had let it in some half
an hour previously. Up to the dove-cote they clambered, breathless and
excited, to behold "William of Orange" strutting about proudly, preening
his ruffled feathers, and cooing plaintively to be fed. Gysbert found a
message tied about the bird's leg. As fast as his feet would carry him,
he flew to the statehouse to deliver the precious bit of paper into the
hands of Adrian Van der Werf. But Jacqueline with a handful of corn
coaxed the weary messenger to alight on her arm. When he had eaten his
fill, she cuddled his head under her soft chin, and stroked his
brilliant plumage.
"'William of Orange,'" she crooned, "thou art well-called. The city owes
much to thee, and to thy great namesake!"
A SWIM IN THE CANAL AND WHAT CAME OF IT
CHAPTER VII
A SWIM IN THE CANAL AND WHAT CAME OF IT
The message brought by the pigeon proved to be word direct from the
Prince of Orange himself to the people of Leyden. He implored them to
take courage, and explained what means he had taken to effect their
relief. The plan was what Gysbert had suspected, but was of even wider
scope. Not only had all the dykes been ruptured and the water had begun
to rise upon the Land-scheiding, but also the Prince had been rapidly
collecting provisions in all the principal cities and towns near by and
was loading them on a fleet of vessels ready to sail across the land to
Leyden when the flood would permit. Thus the same waters that were to
rout the Spanish army were to bear life and food to the suffering city.
It was truly a daring and original plan, and Van der Werf's stern,
harassed countenance lighted with joy when he read the missive.
"Ring the bells!" he commanded. "Call a meeting of the populace in the
great square! Order the military bands to play inspiriting music! Fire
the cannons and sing lustily! Surely this news must put heart into the
people!"
Then such a bedlam of sounds as rose within the walls of Leyden! Not for
months had there been such a stir and life in the streets of the
half-dead city. The Spaniards outside, hearing the revelry and not in
the least understanding its cause, gazed at each other in amazement and
could only conjecture that a great army must be coming to the relief of
their foes. But they were not long to remain in doubt. That night a
sentinel rushed into the camp shouting:
"The water! the water! It stands ten inches deep all round the outskirts
of the Land-scheiding! The dykes have all been pierced!" And swift
consternation seized them, as they began to grasp the meaning of the
shouts of joy within the walls of Leyden.
But a week passed, and the waters did not continue to rise. The low
tides and the constant east winds were most unfavorable to the present
flooding of the land. Confidence was restored to the Spanish army, and
in the city the recent joy faded away as suddenly as it had come. Dull
distrust reigned unchecked, and the Glippers of whom there were not a
few in the town, lost no opportunity to scoff at 'This mad hopeless
scheme of the Prince's,' as they called it.
"Go up to the Tower on Hengist Hill," they would cry scornfully to the
patriots, "and _see_ if the ocean is coming over the dry land to your
relief!" Then it came to be that Hengist Hill was haunted day and night
by anxious, hunger-stricken men and women, watching, hoping, trusting,
praying that some help might come to the famished city.
Meantime the weather continued stifling and unbearable, and sickness,
death and the plague raged in Leyden. Jacqueline had her heart and hands
full with her newly assumed duties. But Gysbert, not having lately any
mission to execute beyond the walls, found time hanging rather heavily
on his hands. One muggy, oppressive morning he determined, for lack of
anything better to do, to seek some secluded spot and indulge in a
refreshing swim in one of the less-frequented canals.
Reaching a shaded spot sufficiently isolated for his purpose, he
divested himself of his garments, plunged in, and remained for half an
hour swimming about idly in the cool water. At length concluding that
his bath had been long enough, he drew himself out and was about to
resume his clothes, when he happened to glance down the road that led by
the canal. About a hundred yards ahead, a black-cloaked figure whose
rear view struck him as somewhat familiar, was hurrying stealthily
along.
"By St. Pancras!" muttered Gysbert. "If that isn't Dirk Willumhoog
again! There's mischief afoot!" Dropping his clothes he ran down the
bank, slipped without noise into the water, and swam hurriedly in the
direction of the retreating figure.
"If I keep behind him close and to the bank," thought the boy, "I can
watch him very well, and he'll never suspect there is a soul around." It
did not take him long to catch up with the man he was pursuing. Most of
the time he kept out of sight, but he rose occasionally far enough to
poke his head over the edge of the canal and peep at his enemy. Once as
he did so, he dropped back quickly, finding that Dirk had seated himself
under a tree not five feet away. The man was busily engaged in examining
the writing on some scraps of paper, or he would certainly have seen the
wet, tousled head poked suddenly up over the bank.
"Whew!" thought Gysbert as he ducked, "but that was a narrow escape! I
wonder how long he's going to sit mooning there! 'Tis right unpleasant
hanging here motionless, and in spite of the heat, the water grows
chilly." But Dirk had evidently no intention of moving at present, and
Gysbert was obliged to shiver and wait for some time, before the spirit
moved the man to be gone. At length the crunch of footsteps on the
gravel warned the boy that his enemy was once more on his way. It was a
relief to swim again and limber up his stiffened body, but to his
astonishment he found that they were drawing near to an unfrequented
portion of the city near the walls, and that the canal-street would soon
turn off in another direction.
"Where _can_ he be going?" questioned Gysbert, as he poked up his head
at the turn, and saw Dirk advancing straight on, apparently right to the
wall itself. At that moment the man half turned his head and Gysbert
ducked under hastily. When he again raised himself, to his amazement
Dirk had disappeared as completely as though the earth had opened up
and swallowed him.
"Has the rascal spread his cloak and _flown_ over the wall, or has he
changed his bodily substance and passed right through it, like the
prince in the fairy tale?" demanded Gysbert of the air about him. But as
it was plain this would bring no solution of the enigma, he cautiously
crept toward the wall, determined by some means to solve the mystery.
From the turn of the canal to the wall was a distance of perhaps five
hundred yards, an unoccupied space of ground like a meadow, broken by
nothing save a little brook that connected with the canal. At the base
of the wall this brook spread out for a space, like a miniature lake.
Gysbert examined every inch of the ground attentively, without finding
anything that might serve to enlighten him. At the face of the wall he
stopped. Plainly no human being could scale at this point the high,
smooth surface that confronted him. Dropping on his knees he examined
the base. "Nothing here!" he muttered, and waded into the tiny lake that
spread out before him.
Step by step he advanced, feeling carefully of the brick wall at every
interval, to detect any possible weak spot, when suddenly his feet
slipped into a deep hole, he was drawn under, and swept by the force of
some swift current, through a small hidden aperture in the wall. When he
came to the surface, he grasped at a projecting ledge, and tried to
ascertain what had happened. It did not take him long to guess. The
marshy land in and about Leyden was constantly intersected by the
formation of new brooks and streams. Not infrequently they would
undermine the very wall itself, and in times of peace, these defects
were always carefully watched and remedied. But in the terrible strain
under which the city had existed for the past months, this one had
evidently passed unnoticed, and in truth, no one would have suspected
its presence from the inside of the city, so well was it hidden by the
little spreading lake.
"Now what ought I do next?" thought Gysbert when he had unravelled this
mystery. "Without doubt this is Dirk's secret doorway, and how he
discovered it the Evil One only knows! The question is, should I try to
explore it before he is well out of the way? I would hardly care to meet
him in this black hole! On the other hand, I don't believe he will
remain in here a moment longer than he has to, and I'm freezing hanging
here. I'll risk it!"
So saying he plunged into the grim cave, and commenced his journey
through the base of the great wall of Leyden. To his disgust he found
that the stream did not penetrate straight from side to side, but turned
and pierced through the _length_ of the wall for many yards. The way was
difficult enough, since he had to fight every inch of his progress
against the swift current, and once the water deepened to such an
extent that he was forced to swim. Moreover, unwarmed by any sun it was
icy cold, and his limbs grew numb and his teeth chattered.
For a moment panic seized him, and he felt sure he would never get out
alive, but would drown in this horrible place. Then his natural courage
again asserted itself, and he pressed steadily forward. At length the
course of the hidden stream changed again, a faint glimmer of daylight
appeared, and in another moment he stood outside the walls of Leyden,
protected from the gaze of the Spanish camp only by a few bushes. No
Dirk Willumhoog was to be seen, but there remained not a shadow of doubt
that this was his mode of ingress to and exit from the city of Leyden.
Gysbert lay down in the sunlight, and warmed his numbed body in its
welcome heat. In half an hour's time he had started on his return trip,
and found it twice as easy as travelling in the opposite direction. Far
from fighting the current he was helped along by it, and in a short time
stood safe within the town again. Arrived there, another swim awaited
him, for as he could not run through the town clad in nothing at all, he
was obliged to take to the canal till he reached the spot where he had
left his clothes. Once only he stopped to climb out and investigate the
place where Dirk had sat examining his papers. As good luck would have
it, he discovered hidden away in the grass where it had evidently fallen
unnoticed, one of the scraps. On it were written a few words, evidently
only a part of the whole, whatever that might have been. Gysbert read
them and his eyes grew big with wonder, and then snapped angrily. "Ah,
this is shameful!" he cried. "We'll see about this, Dirk Willumhoog,
thou traitor as well as coward!"
With the paper in his mouth for safety, he plunged into the canal, swam
to the point where he had left his clothes, flung them on hastily, and
hurried home as fast as he could run.
"I shall have something to tell Jacqueline about _this_ day's work!" he
remarked to himself with great satisfaction.
"TRANQUIL AMID RAGING BILLOWS"
CHAPTER VIII
"TRANQUIL AMID RAGING BILLOWS"
Jacqueline was not at home when Gysbert arrived hot and breathless. She
had been out all morning with Dr. de Witt on their usual errand of
mercy, and Vrouw Voorhaas declared with much sullen complaining, that
she could not be expected for an hour yet. So the boy was compelled to
fret and wander about idly till she appeared. When she came she looked
desperately tired, but she ascended cheerfully to the dove-cote with her
brother, which place he chose as the safest and most secluded in which
to impart his secret.
"I had the greatest adventure this morning, Jacqueline!" he began. And
while she listened eagerly, petting the smooth head of her finest pigeon
and coaxing him with a little grain, Gysbert told of his swim in the
canal and its results. When he came to the part concerning the discovery
of the paper, he pulled it from his pocket and showed it to her. It was,
as has been said, only a portion of the whole writing, and commenced at
the top with the completion of some sentence begun on another piece:--
"--evidently in Belfry Lane.
"The Prince is dangerously ill
"in Rotterdam. We have conveyed
"to him the report that Leyden
"has surrendered. While this is
"not yet true, the news will so
"discourage him that it is
"doubtful if he will recover--"
"Canst thou imagine anything more despicable than that?" exclaimed
Gysbert. "Our good Prince sickened unto death by such reports! Something
must be done about it."
"Shall thou go at once and tell Mynheer Van der Werf?" inquired his
sister.
"Well, I suppose I should, but then he would only send me off at once
to deny the rumor, so I may just as well not lose the time."
"But, Gysbert, what can that mean at the first?" said Jacqueline,
"'--evidently in Belfry Lane.' Can it possibly refer to us?"
"I do not doubt that it is just what it does refer to," he replied. "He
has, most likely, found out where we live. He means mischief, I tell
thee, not only to the country but to us also, though what we have done
to merit his attention, I cannot imagine."
"Thou didst anger him, Gysbert, that day at the gate, and he has not
forgotten. But there is something else beside. What can it be? Ah, I
fear harm is coming to us!"
"Well, I for one am not going to think about that, when this other
matter is so much more important," replied Gysbert, characteristically.
"This very night I shall disguise myself as usual, and make one more
trip through the camp. As I must travel all the way to Rotterdam, I may
not return for two or three days, so thou must explain it as best thou
canst to Vrouw Voorhaas. I do not care much now what thou dost tell her,
for she can do little to prevent my getting away if I choose."
"Ah, brother, I dread to have thee go! These be evil times, and I have a
foreboding that all will not go well whilst thou art away. And yet I
would not keep thee, for 'tis more than wicked that our Prince should be
so ill and so cruelly deceived. But thou must take a pigeon with thee,
and send him to me with a message, if thou art detained over long, else
I shall break my heart with anxiety, watching for thee."
At dawn next morning Gysbert set forth in his usual disguise carrying
the pigeon "William of Orange" at the bottom of his bag of herbs.
Passing out through the gate of the Tower of Burgundy, he chose a route
through a part of the army near that of his first attempt, since that
way lay nearer to the road for Delft and Rotterdam. The usual sleeping
camp lay all about him. The usual challenge from drowsy sentinels
arrested his progress, but thanks to the magic countersign, "_Don
Carlos_," which he had learned from the gatekeeper, he was no where
detained. He accomplished the passage of the camp with absolutely no
molestation or exciting incident, thinking that the feat was becoming
very, very easy.
On the road to Delft he looked along the canal to see if he might spy
Joris Fruytiers and his bulky craft. But the canal was deserted, and he
was obliged to make up his mind that his own two feet must carry him
most of the way. As he trudged along, he could not but notice the
exceeding muddiness of the road, and the farther he proceeded, the worse
did it become, till at length he found himself plowing through a
veritable bog.
"This is singular!" was his first thought, and then, "Why, no it isn't
either! This is the result of the broken down dykes. How strange that I
did not think of it at first!" And the worse it became, the more it
pleased him, since it might mean ultimate relief and victory to the
city. Finally he found himself wading through several inches of water,
and he took infinite, boyish delight in slopping through its muddy
depths, splashing the drops from side to side as he walked. In due time
he reached Delft, and stopped to get a hearty meal at a baker's shop,
with a few coins he had in his pocket. Thus refreshed and rested, he
continued on his way.
Darkness at length overtook him, and abandoning all hope of reaching
Rotterdam that night, he crept into a farmer's barn, and in the hayloft
slept the sleep of healthy weariness, till the first streaks of dawn
tinted the horizon. Trudging on his road again, without either a
breakfast or the prospect of one, it was noon before he reached the goal
of his desire, Rotterdam, where lay ill and despairing the idol of his
boyish dreams, William, Prince of Orange-Nassau.
Gysbert had never been in Rotterdam, consequently he was compelled to
inquire his way frequently. Ascertaining that the Prince was then
stopping at a house on the Hoog Straat, and being directed to that
thoroughfare, he was not long in arriving at his destination. It was a
much smaller establishment than the palace of the _Prinsenhof_ in Delft,
and to the boy's astonishment there seemed to be absolutely no one about
the premises. The large front entrance was not locked, and having
knocked in vain for many minutes, he pushed open the door and entered.
Nothing greeted him but deserted halls and rooms. He lingered about in
the corridors for a while, hoping that someone might come in. Then his
attention became attracted by occasional groans and muttered
ejaculations from the room above. Fearing that someone, possibly the
Prince himself, might be in trouble, he decided to go up and see if he
might render any assistance. He crept up softly, and guided by the
sounds, reached an open doorway and peeped in.
Tossing and moaning on a bed, lay the gaunt form of a man. One glance
sufficed to convince Gysbert that it was William of Orange, and that he
was desperately ill. Why the great head of his country should be thus
deserted by every one of his attendants in his trouble, was more than
Gysbert could fathom. A natural hesitancy, however, kept him from
intruding on the privacy of the sick man's bedroom, and he stood outside
for a time, watching and wondering if there were anything he might do.
The Prince lay in a huge, four-post bed, raised on a sort of dias or
platform. At his feet on the coverlet sat a little brown and white
spaniel, who whined plaintively as if in answer to his master's groans.
When Gysbert appeared in the doorway, the animal sprang up barking
furiously, and tried to wake his master. But the Prince was at the time
in a sort of stupor, and paid no heed to the animal's cries. The dog
soon perceived that the intruder attempted no harm, and settled himself
in his former post.
Gysbert knew well why the Prince was attended by this faithful beast.
Two years before at the siege of Mons, he had been surprised one night
while asleep in his tent, by a party of Spaniards who had planned to
capture him. A little spaniel who slept in his quarters sprang up
barking and scratching his hands. The Prince thus wakened found time to
escape, but had it not been for the faithful little animal, the
Netherlands would have lost their strongest protector. For the rest of
his life, the Prince was never without a spaniel of the same breed who
slept nightly in his room.
Gysbert had ample time to note what manner of man was this his idol. His
forehead was high, noble, and marked with many lines of care. The
expression of his face, even racked with burning fever, was of a tender,
strong and fatherly benignity. Near by lay his armor and sword, on the
hilt of which was carved in Latin his chosen motto:--
"Sævis tranquillus in undis!"
("Tranquil amid raging billows!")
No language could have better expressed the quiet firmness and unshaken
courage of this wonderful nobleman, even in the most harrowing and
adverse circumstances.
The sick man was gradually emerging from unconsciousness. His eyes
opened widely but unseeingly, and he muttered in a half-delirium:
"Ah, Leyden, Leyden! Would God that I might help thee! It is not true,
it cannot be true that thou hast yielded to the enemy! Ah, my country!
What fate is now before thee, and I so helpless to render thee
aid!--Tranquil,--tranquil!--I must be tranquil amid the billows!--Oh,
thou my God, help me!--" Again unconsciousness overcame him, and he sank
into another stupor. Gysbert's heart ached with pity and the wild desire
to tell him that his fears were groundless. "When he next wakes,"
thought the boy, "I will go in and tell him how false is this report he
has heard." Presently the Prince exhibited signs of returning
consciousness, but he seemed weaker, and could only murmur:
"Leyden!--Leyden!--Tranquil--" Then Gysbert with trembling knees and
quaking heart, entered the door and walked up to the bed. At first the
Prince did not see him, but soon the renewed barking of his spaniel
attracted his attention to the curious little figure standing by the
bedside.
"Who art thou?" he queried feebly.
"Mynheer Prince," faltered Gysbert, "I am only a boy from Leyden, but I
have come to tell you that it is not true,--what you have been told
concerning the city's surrender. Leyden still holds out and will so
continue till its last defender is slain!" The dullness of fever in the
sick man's eyes gave place to an actual sparkle.
"Leyden still safe!" he exclaimed. "Then have I surely been deceived.
Oh, God be praised that He has answered my prayer! But tell me, brave
little fellow, how camest thou to know what only one of my confidential
servants has whispered to me, and how camest thou all this way to
undeceive me? Methinks too, thou hast assumed something of a disguise."
Then Gysbert told him the circumstances of the finding of the paper, and
much about Dirk Willumhoog. From this the Prince beguiled him into
telling about how he had made expeditions with messages through the
Spanish army, and how his sister was helping care for the sick and
plague-stricken in Leyden, and many details about the condition of the
city. When he had finished he was emboldened to ask the Prince how it
was that the house had no attendants, especially when he lay so ill.
"Truly it must seem strange!" answered William the Silent. "I have the
kindest of servants, and the best medical attendance, but it so happens
that I have sent all off this morning on errands of the greatest
importance. When this traitor, this Joachim Hansleer, returns I will
discharge him straightway for a lying villain who thinks to kill me by
his deception. He has been whispering to me this past week, that Leyden
had surrendered but that the rest were afraid to tell me!"
"If the great Prince would forgive me for saying it," replied Gysbert,
"I would suggest that he be locked up in close confinement instead, else
he will join his companion, Dirk Willumhoog, and plot more wickedness!"
"True, true!" exclaimed the Prince, laughing for the first time in
weeks. "Thou art a clever lad to have thought of it. And now tell me thy
name. I shall not forget thee." When Gysbert had told him, he held out
his hand:
"Take these ten florins and buy thyself all the food thou canst carry
back with thee. Be sure to tell Van der Werf to guard that opening in
the wall well, and arrest Dirk Willumhoog if he enters again. Tell him
also that help is very near, and pray God for a west wind. My grateful
thanks go with thee! Already I feel the fever abated, and new life
surging through me. Farewell!" Gysbert knelt to kiss the hand of his
hero, and then sped away light of heel and glad of heart at the
successful outcome of his errand.
And when, a few moments later, the Receiver-General of Holland,
Cornelius Van Meirop, ascended to the bed-chamber to visit his Prince,
he marvelled at the great change for the better that had suddenly taken
place in the condition of William the Silent.
VROUW VOORHAAS'S SECRET
CHAPTER IX
VROUW VOORHAAS'S SECRET
No sooner had Gysbert been dispatched on his journey to Rotterdam, than
Jacqueline turned her attention to preparing breakfast. Much to her
astonishment, Vrouw Voorhaas was not yet up and about, but she concluded
that the woman was wearied out with hard work and anxiety, and was
taking an extra, involuntary nap.
The most careful search in the larder revealed nothing that under
ordinary circumstances would be considered in the least palatable.
Jacqueline remembered two pigeons' eggs that had been laid the day
before, and determined that they must go toward furnishing the
breakfast-table. These, with some very thin gruel of pigeon grain
completed the arrangements. Wondering that Vrouw Voorhaas had not yet
appeared, and fearing lest something were the matter, she decided to go
up and investigate the cause of this unusual state of affairs. At the
door of the bedroom she paused, horror-struck at the sound of a curious
muttering and groaning now grown terribly familiar to her ears. Then she
opened the door. Her worst suspicions were verified--Vrouw Voorhaas had
the plague!
The woman lay tossing and moaning, utterly unconscious of anything about
her, muttering strange, incoherent sentences in her delirium. Amazed and
shocked at what she heard, Jacqueline stood rooted to the spot
listening.
"I will not eat it!--I must not eat it!--" cried the unconscious woman,
"--It is for the children!--Oh, God, how I hunger!--" Then in a lower
tone:--"Dirk Willumhoog thou shalt _not_ harm them as thou didst
endeavor to harm--" Here she appeared to fall into a restless sleep, and
for a few moments her tossing form lay quiet; Jacqueline buried her
face in her hands and wept with sheer bitterness and despair.
"Oh, Vrouw Voorhaas, Vrouw Voorhaas!--now I know what doth ail thee!"
she sobbed aloud. "Thou hast starved thyself for our sakes, thou didst
deceive us into thinking thou wast satisfied with a little, and now thou
art reaping the results of thy sacrifice!" The realization that this
faithful servant had brought herself to this pass by her own
self-denial, occupied Jacqueline's mind to the exclusion of every other
thought. "How wicked and ungrateful I have been," she blamed herself,
"going out to nurse other people, when starvation and illness lay
waiting right at my own door, and I never guessed! Oh, if Gysbert were
only here!"
Then the necessity for doing something, and that speedily, forced itself
upon her. Deciding that she could leave the sick woman more easily now
than later, she ran out at once to find Dr. de Witt. He accompanied her
without an instant's delay. When he reached the sick room he gave one
keen glance at his patient, and then set about his work of relief,
Jacqueline assisting him with the intelligence and skill perfected by
much practice.
"Now," said he finally, "thou must make up thy mind, Juffrouw
Jacqueline, to one thing. For the present thou must give up all thought
of going on thy daily round with me, and devote thyself to the care of
this thy companion. Her case is more critical than usual, having been
brought on, I judge, by systematic starvation."
"But Jan!--" faltered the girl. "He is still very weak and needs my
care."
"Let him come here and stay," ordered the doctor. "I will myself fetch
him this afternoon, and thus thou wilt have both thy patients under
thine eye. He also may be able to help thee a little. Where is thy
brother?"
"He has gone out of the city on an errand of importance. I do not
expect him back for two or three days," she answered.
"Well, keep him out of the sick room when he returns. 'Tis best for him
not to be exposed to the disease. Now I must be going on my usual way. I
shall miss thy helpful presence much, Juffrouw Jacqueline. Ah, but times
are sore in this wretched city!" As he turned to go, Vrouw Voorhaas
roused herself and began muttering anew:
"Louvain?--Louvain?--Yes, from there we came, but what is that to
thee!--" The doctor started, and walked back toward his patient.
"She hath been raving much without sense!" remarked Jacqueline hastily.
"I fear her mind is all unhinged!" But Dr. de Witt continued to
scrutinize sharply the features of the sick woman.
"Didst thou really come from Louvain?" he asked Jacqueline at length.
"Yes," faltered the girl, "many years ago."
"What is the name of this woman?" the doctor continued to question. As
Jacqueline told him, a great light appeared to break in on his mind.
"Ah, ah!" he exclaimed. "I see it all! It is as clear as day to me now!
That resemblance in thee I was sure I should place sometime. Is not thy
name Cornellisen, and was not thy father the famous doctor-professor in
the University?"
"Aye!" answered Jacqueline in fear and trembling, "Thou hast guessed
aright, but tell no one, I pray thee!"
"I knew it! I felt it!" continued the doctor. "And yet I could not make
the memory a connected one, till now. I was a student about to graduate
from the University, and thy father was my great admiration and example.
I saw Vrouw Voorhaas once on visiting his home, but never his children,
hence I did not recognize thee. It was sad--sad, thy father's end, and I
grieved over it many a long day! It was his great devotion to the young
Count de Buren who was under his special care, that brought him to his
death. Dost thou know all about it?"
"I know only what Vrouw Voorhaas has told me, of his being captured and
killed by the cruel Duke of Alva," answered Jacqueline.
"Then I can tell thee more, and I will some time. Right glad I am that
it has fallen to my lot to help and befriend thee, for so I can render
service to thy dead father who was always more than kind to me."
All the morning Jacqueline sat by the sick woman's bedside, moistening
her parched lips with water, cooling her feverish brow with refreshing
compresses, and tending to every unspoken want with a devotion born of
love and remorse. At no time did Vrouw Voorhaas become sane and
conscious of her surroundings, and her feverish delirium increased as
the day wore on. It wrung the girl's tender heart to hear her cry out
against the pangs of hunger and imagine that she must continually deny
herself for the children's sake.
Little by little the history of all the past weeks of suffering was
revealed to the watching girl, and she realized that what she had
supposed to be a sufficient supply of provisions for all, had only been
rendered enough for herself and Gysbert by the cruel deprivation of this
faithful woman. But other chance ejaculations were more mystifying, and
served to arouse in Jacqueline an intense, terrified curiosity as to
what might be this long kept secret that so troubled the soul of Vrouw
Voorhaas. Once she was electrified by hearing the sick woman hiss:
"How didst thou get in the city, Dirk Willumhoog?--No, go away! Thou
canst draw nothing from me!--I will not tell thee, I say!--Thou dare not
touch one hair of their heads!--Nay, I _will_ not tell thee!--Keep thy
gold!--What do I care for all the wealth of the Indies?--Their father--"
Jacqueline puzzled over it in trembling astonishment. Was it possible
that Dirk Willumhoog had been here in Belfry Lane, and interviewed Vrouw
Voorhaas while they were away somewhere? But why had she not told them
of it? What could be this dreadful mystery that the two seemed to share
in common? What harm did he plan to do them?
That afternoon Jan arrived, accompanied by Dr. de Witt. Jacqueline now
had her hands full with the two patients, but she was grateful for the
companionship of the old man. It had seemed unutterably depressing to be
shut up alone with this sick woman who was never for a moment in her
right mind, and who raved incessantly about disturbing mysteries. Two
more days passed and the conditions in Belfry Lane continued about the
same. Vrouw Voorhaas did not improve, except that she had less delirium,
and Jacqueline was worried almost out of her senses because Gysbert had
not yet appeared. Nothing could convince her that all was well with
him, and she kept constant watch for the carrier pigeon to bring some
news.
Running up to the cote on the fourth day, she found to her joy, "William
of Orange" strutting about among the two or three other birds. A note
was fastened about his leg, and Jacqueline unfastened it with trembling,
eager fingers. To her surprise it was addressed not to her but to Vrouw
Voorhaas, and was in a strange handwriting. With a great throb of
terror, she opened it and read these words:--
"VROUW VOORHAAS,"
"Fortune has at last turned in my favor. The boy is now in my
possession, and before long the girl will be also. I snap my
fingers in thy face!"
"DIRK WILLUMHOOG."
THE BEGGARS OF THE SEA
CHAPTER X
THE BEGGARS OF THE SEA
"Vrouw Voorhaas is decidedly better to-day, Juffrouw Jacqueline,"
remarked Dr. Pieter de Witt as he left the bedside of the sick woman.
"She is really coming out of this illness very well, thanks to thy
careful nursing and our good Jan's assistance."
"Is it so indeed!" answered Jacqueline listlessly, striving to force
herself to some show of enthusiasm. "Then am I right glad, for I have
done my best, and thou hast been devotion itself, Dr. de Witt. Oh! if
only--" She turned away her head to hide the tears that would come, and
a sob stopped her further utterance. The good doctor understood, and
busied himself over his patient till the girl had regained her
self-control.
"If I mistake not," he ventured at length, "she will probably be quite
herself to-day, having regained consciousness several times lately. It
would be well, should she recover sufficiently to ask after thy brother,
not to allow her to think he has come to harm. A shock like that would
thrust her lower than she has yet been."
"But what shall we say?" faltered Jacqueline. "I must not tell an
untruth."
"Wouldst thou tell her the broad, brutal facts, and thereby cause her
death?" demanded the doctor sternly. "Nay, it is only necessary to say
that since she had been suffering with the plague, it was deemed wisest
to send him away for a time, lest he contract the disease. She will be
satisfied with that for the present." Jacqueline acquiesced in this, and
the two went downstairs to acquaint Jan Van Buskirk with the news of the
improvement in Vrouw Voorhaas's condition. Jan was sitting in the sunny,
immaculate kitchen reading his big Bible, one of the few possessions he
had brought with him to Belfry Lane. He was as pleased as the others
with the good report.
"Listen to this!" he remarked. "I've just been reading it in the Good
Book. I think the Lord must have had the siege of Leyden in mind when He
caused this to be written--'Surely He shall deliver thee from the snare
of the fowler and from the noisome pestilence!'--Isn't that just what
happened to Vrouw Voorhaas and myself! I call it nothing less than
miraculous! And here's some more!--'Thou shalt not be afraid for the
terror by night, nor for the arrow that flieth by day'--Doesn't that
just describe the Spanish army out beyond!--'nor for the pestilence that
walketh in darkness'--that's the plague--'nor for the destruction that
wasteth at noonday.'--That's starvation!
"'A thousand shall fall at thy side, and ten thousand at thy right hand,
but it shall not come nigh thee!' Haven't more than five thousand died
of starvation and the pestilence here already, and we are yet spared!"
"True, true!" murmured Jacqueline, "but Gysbert!--" Now there was an
unspoken but well-understood conspiracy between the doctor and Jan to
keep up the spirits of the despairing girl on this painful subject.
"Thou didst not let me read far enough, Jacqueline," the old man
hastened to add. "Only listen! Here is another Psalm that I was reading
this morning. It should be a great help to thee:--'The Lord is my light
and my salvation; whom shall I fear? The Lord is the strength of my
life; of whom shall I be afraid?
"'When the wicked, even mine enemies came upon me to eat up my flesh,
they stumbled and fell. Though an host should encamp against me my heart
shall not fear. Though war should rise against me, in this will I be
confident.
"'Teach me thy way, O Lord, and lead me in a plain path because of mine
enemies. Wait on the Lord; be of good courage and He shall strengthen
thine heart. Wait, I say, on the Lord!'"
"What thou hast read does truly give me new courage," said Jacqueline.
"Thanks, Jan! Thou art indeed a help and a comfort. And now I will go up
to the dove-cote to see if perchance a pigeon has come with some message
for the burgomaster."
A week had passed since the disappearance of the boy, and not a sign or
a token had come to the anxious watchers in Belfry Lane, to indicate his
whereabouts or his fate. After the first shock caused by Dirk's message,
Jacqueline had gone straight to Adrian Van der Werf and explained the
situation, imploring him to assist in trying to find and rescue her
brother. The burgomaster was deeply distressed at the misfortune that
had come to his little "jumper," and was much mystified as to the cause
of this continued persecution of two innocent children by an unknown
man.
But as to offering any assistance, that he told Jacqueline was quite
beyond his power. Already concern for the famishing, besieged city, and
despair at its vanishing hopes of relief had driven him almost beyond
his senses with anxiety. It was now not only impossible, but would be
also quite fruitless for him to send men outside the walls to search for
Gysbert, as they would probably be killed on sight by the ferocious
Spaniards. He advised Jacqueline to wait quietly for further
developments, and gave it as his opinion that Gysbert had not been
killed, but was probably being kept alive for some yet unknown purpose.
But little encouraged by this interview, Jacqueline crept home to endure
silent but unending misery. For she was too proud to be seen by the
others constantly grieving, and moreover, she blamed herself bitterly
for ever allowing her brother to undertake such a hazardous enterprise.
Ascending to the pigeon-loft that morning, she found a returned
messenger strutting about among the remaining birds. He bore a note
wrapped round his leg, addressed to Adrian Van der Werf. Jacqueline made
all haste to carry this to the statehouse, for it now devolved upon her
to be the bearer of these messages when they arrived. The burgomaster
welcomed her kindly:
"Good-morning, Juffrouw Jacqueline! Hast heard any news from thy brother
yet?"
"Nay," answered the girl shaking her head sadly. "But I have here
another message for you, Mynheer Van der Werf. It has but just come by a
pigeon."
"Thanks, thanks!" he said, opening it eagerly. Then with sparkling eyes
he cried:
"Ah, this is excellent, excellent news! Admiral Boisot with his fleet
manned by the Beggars of the Sea, has arrived out of Zeeland, and is
already entering the Rhine over the broken dykes. He cannot be ten miles
from the city! Praise God, praise God!" He turned to Jacqueline for an
answering enthusiasm, but found to his surprise that the poor girl had
fainted away in the chair where she sat, evidently from sheer hunger and
fatigue. Van der Werf hastened to a closet, took out a bottle, and
forced some cordial between her set teeth. As he chafed her cold hands
he murmured:
"Poor, poor little girl! Thou hast borne thy share of this cursed
trouble nobly and well--that I know from De Witt himself. Thou shalt
have every comfort and help that I can render thee!" Jacqueline soon
returned to consciousness, but the burgomaster would not yet allow her
to leave, and insisted that she drink another glass of the revivifying
cordial. When she was quite herself again, he sent her back to Belfry
Lane with a large basket of food from his own larder, which he had
despatched a soldier to procure.
"It is not much," he apologized, "for we are hard put to it ourselves
for sustenance now. But it is at least something I can do for so
faithful a helper. See that thou dost not stint _thyself_ in thy
distribution of it!" he ended laughing.
When she had gone, Van der Werf hastened to despatch a town-crier to
spread the good news, and himself made all speed to Hengist Hill to
observe the position of the fleet. The day was clear, and the flotilla
lay in plain sight, not far beyond the Land-scheiding--a motley array of
more than two hundred vessels of every conceivable shape and size. The
largest, an enormous craft with shot-proof bulwarks and moved by huge
paddle wheels turned by a crank, was called the "_Ark of Delft_." It
served as the flag-ship for Admiral Boisot, and was renowned for being
the leader in every battle. Each ship carried from eight to ten cannon,
and the whole fleet was manned by twenty-five hundred wild and
battle-scarred veterans, the bravest and fiercest in the land.
They called themselves the "Beggars of the Sea," a name they had assumed
since a time at first, when the scornful Spanish soldiery had mocked
them. "Who is afraid of you! You are nothing but a pack of _beggars_!"
scoffed the Spaniards. "Very well!" replied the hot-headed Zeelanders.
"Ye shall see how _beggars_ can _fight_!" And truly they made a
ferocious crew, as the Spanish found later, to their surprise and
dismay. They neither gave nor took quarter, for theirs was a battle to
the death, and woe to the luckless Spaniard who fell within their power!
"Long live the Beggars!" was their rallying cry, and "Long live the
Beggars!" now echoed in shout upon shout from Hengist Hill, by the
crowds that had followed the burgomaster to the summit. Hope was once
more restored, and Leyden gathered herself together and drew a long
breath of renewed courage.
But before the consummation of this hope there was much to be done, and
many battles to fight. The Land-scheiding lay before the fleet guarded
by Spanish troops, and all about, the villages and fortresses were in
the hands of the same enemy. On the night of September tenth, the city
was startled by loud cannonading to the southwest, and the sky grew
lurid with the flames of burning farmhouses and villages. Boisot had
made the first bold move. Finding that the great dyke was but
insufficiently guarded, he attacked it in the dead of night, at the same
time setting fire to and ruining several adjacent strongholds of the
enemy.
When morning dawned he was in possession of the coveted Land-scheiding,
without the loss of a single man. The discomfited Spaniards had but too
late discovered their mistake in underestimating the courage of their
assailants. A dove flew in on the morning of the eleventh, sent by
Boisot, telling of the victory. Jacqueline carried it to the statehouse
with the first feeling of enthusiasm she had experienced in many a long
day. Perhaps the city really would be relieved, and perhaps Gysbert
might be restored to them after all!
JACQUELINE RESPONDS TO AN URGENT SUMMONS