When the Count and the Baron awoke, they found to their surprise that
the sloop was not only afloat but under weigh, and sailing over the
waters of the Zuyder Zee. The skipper, who was short and broad, had a
crew of two men, who were, he assured his passengers, amply sufficient
for navigating the sloop.
"We shall not reach Amsterdam quite as soon as you might have expected,
Mynheers," he said; "for I purpose putting in at Monnickendam for a few
hours. It is not a very lively place, though it was once a wealthy
city, one of the twenty great towns of Holland, but its glory has passed
away."
As the object of the Count and the Baron was to see the world, they
willingly agreed to visit this dead city of the Zuyder Zee. They were
accordingly rowed on shore in the sloop's boat.
"Well, this does seem to be a city of the dead, or else the inhabitants,
if there are any, have gone to sleep," observed the Baron, as he and the
Count paced the streets, which were payed with yellow bricks. The
houses were all red, and the Venetian shutters green--one house was
almost exactly like another; not a door nor a window was open, not a
face was to be seen at any of them; through the entire length of one
long thoroughfare they met not a single person--not a cat, nor a dog,
nor a sign of life. They went through street after street--every street
was the same; only when they returned to the harbour a few people
collected to inspect them, examining minutely their boots and hats,
their coats and umbrellas.
"Well, gentlemen," said the Baron, making them a profound bow, "you will
remember us should we ever have the pleasure of paying your defunct city
another visit."
He and the Count stepped into the boat which was waiting to take them on
board the sloop. Whatever other business the skipper transacted at
Monnickendam, he had not omitted to imbibe a considerable amount of
schiedam, and although when he stepped on deck he was as steady as a
church steeple, there was a twinkle in his eye, and a mode of expressing
himself which showed what he had been about. The Count and the Baron,
however, did not at first discover this. When the sloop was got under
weigh, he invited them into the cabin to partake of the dinner, which
one of the crew had prepared. The wind was light, and the sloop glided
steadily on.
"After all, I really do think I like the sea," said the Count. "This
style of navigation suits me--no trouble, no fatigue. We can eat and
drink and go to sleep, and return on deck to enjoy the fresh air. When,
Captain, do you think we shall reach Rotterdam?"
"Reach Rotterdam, Mynheers, why when the sloop gets there," answered the
skipper. "I cannot say how soon we shall reach it, the winds must know
more about that than I do. We have Uitdam and Durgerdam to pass first,
and the wind may fail us or become contrary. It was not in our
agreement to tell you when we should get there; have patience, Mynheers,
have patience; let the world go round as it likes, and have patience."
This was not a very satisfactory answer, but as the Count and the Baron
were tolerably comfortable they made no complaint. The skipper sat in
his chair, and after he had finished dinner quaffed schiedam and water;
one of the crew was engaged below in cleaning up the dishes and plates,
the other was at the helm. Presently there came a loud cry, and the
cutter heeled over. The Count, who was the most active of the party,
jumped up to see what was the matter, while the man forward did the
same.
"We're run into by a big, lubberly ship," cried the man at the helm.
The fact was very clear. The bowsprit of the big ship had caught the
rigging of the sloop, and was bearing her over.
"What is going to happen?" asked the Count, in a state of no small
trepidation.
"We shall be sent to the bottom if our mast and rigging are not carried
away," answered the man at the helm. The crew of the big ship were
rushing out to the bowsprit end to try and clear the sloop, but that
seemed no easy matter.
"Can't you cut the rigging, my friends?" shouted the Count, who at a
glance saw that by so doing the sloop would be set free.
"But we shall lose our mast if they do that," said the man at the helm.
"Better lose our mast than be sent to the bottom," answered the Count.