North Sea.

In a short time Flushing, with the masts and yards of its shipping, was lost to sight, and the galiot began ploughing the waters of the North Sea. Fortunately, the wind being off the land, it was tolerably smooth, and she glided on without inconveniencing her passengers.

“What is out there?” asked the Count, pointing across the apparently boundless waters towards the west.

“Thereabouts lies that little island I spoke of inhabited by the English people,” answered the skipper. “I hope they may keep to their island, and not come bothering us as they used to do in days of yore. All we want now is to be let alone, and to be allowed to carry on our commercial affairs like peaceable and well-disposed people—to build our dykes and to cultivate the soil. Think what we have done! We have won half of our country from the sea, and have converted the other half, once no better than a marsh, into dry land. Look at our magnificent towns, our canals, our green fields, our gardens and orchards, and just think what our industry has accomplished. A Dutchman has a right to be proud of his country, and so we are, and intend to defend it, as we always have done, to the last drop of our blood.”

The skipper, who grew enthusiastic, was standing at the helm, and he puffed away at his pipe till from the clouds of smoke that ascended the galiot might have been taken at a distance for a steamer.

“Holland is but a small country, though,” observed the Count.

“Yes, granted; but it has a large soul. Every inch of its soil is cultivated, or made to produce something. Think of the countless herds of cattle it feeds, and the mountains of cheeses shipped every year to all parts of the world, its ingenious toys, its gorgeous tulips, and the oceans of schiedam it supplies to thirsty souls, not to speak of its many other manufactures, which you will have the opportunity of inspecting during your travels. Other people inhabit fertile countries which they found ready prepared for them, we Hollanders have formed ours; we have won it after a fierce battle of long years from the greedy ocean, which is always endeavouring to regain the ground it has lost, but we keep the ocean in check with our wonderful dykes, and make it subservient to our requirements. You showed your wisdom, Mynheers, in determining to visit it before proceeding to other parts of the world. In my opinion, you’ll not wish to go further; it contains amply sufficient to satisfy the desire of your hearts. Ja, ja.”

Captain Jan Dunck emitted a vast column of smoke, and was silent for some minutes. He then had to take a pull at the main-sheet, for the wind was heading the galiot; he took another and another, and his countenance wore a less satisfactory aspect than it had done lately. The galiot began to pitch, for the seas were getting up, while she heeled over as much as galiots ever do, they being sturdy craft, loving upright ways and sailing best before the wind. If the skipper looked dissatisfied, his passengers were evidently much more so; their visages grew longer and longer, their eyes assumed a fleshy hue, their lips curled, and it needed no experienced physiognomist to pronounce them unhappy; conversation ceased, they spoke only in ejaculations such as “Oh! oh! oh! Oh dear! oh dear! oh dear!”

At last the Baron managed to say, “Ca–a–a–p–tain, i–i–i–i–sn’t there a harbour into which we can put till this storm is over?”

“Storm, do you call it,” laughed the skipper. “It is only a head wind, and we shall have to stand out to the eastward into the North Sea for a few leagues or so, till we can fetch the Texel.”

“Oh dear! oh dear! into the North Sea, did you say?” cried the Count. “How dreadful!”

“Horrible!” exclaimed the Baron.

“Detestable!” cried the Count.

“Well, Mynheers, to please you, remember, seeing that the galiot is likely to make as much leeway as she does headway, we will put into Brill, a town just now on our starboard hand, a short distance up the Maas. Hands about ship!”

The mate, the one-eyed mariner, and the small ship’s boy started up at their Captain’s call. The helm was put down, the jib-sheet let fly, and the galiot, after exhibiting some doubt as to whether she would do as was wished, came slowly round, her head pointing to the eastward.

“Why, what has become of the wind?” asked the Count, his visage brightening.

“The sea is much more quiet than it was, because we have just got under the land. See that bank away to windward, that keeps it off us. We shall soon be running up the Maas.”

In a few minutes the water became perfectly smooth, the Count and Baron recovered their spirits, and in a short time they arrived off a seaport town on the right bank of the Maas.

“There’s nothing very grand to boast of,” observed the Count, as he surveyed it through his binoculars.

“It has a history, notwithstanding,” observed the skipper. “It was here the first successful blow was struck for liberty, by those daring fellows ‘The Beggars of the Sea,’ under their gallant leader De la Marck. It is a town of pilots and fishermen, and as brave sailors as ever explored the ocean. Here, also, were born our gallant admirals Van Tromp and De Witt, and its harbour is as fine a one as any along the coast. Say what you like, Mynheers, Brill has as good a right to be proud of itself as many a place with greater pretensions. Do you feel disposed to go on shore and survey its advantages?”

“Thank you,” said the Baron, “taking all things into consideration, we will remain where we are; dinner will soon be ready, I think; our appetites are wonderfully sharpened by the sea air, and, remembering the store of provender you brought on board, it would be a bad compliment to you not to stay and help you consume it.”

“Ja, ja,” said the skipper, “do as you please, I am happy to have your company.”

The Baron, at all events, did ample justice to the skipper’s dinner, and all three spent the remainder of the day on deck, puffing away with their long pipes in their mouths, till it was difficult to say whether they or the galley fire forward sent forth the thickest wreaths. Notwithstanding this, the Baron declared that he was perfectly ready for supper at the usual hour, after which the two passengers turned into their berths and went to sleep. They were awakened by finding the vessel once more pitching and tumbling about, and, thinking that something was about to happen, they crawled up on deck.

“What’s the matter, Captain,” exclaimed the Count, in an agitated voice; “is there any danger?”

“No, but there’s no small amount of fear among some of us,” answered the skipper in a gruff voice. “We have got a fair wind, and are once more at sea.”

“What is that bright spot up there,” asked the Count, pointing to a light which streamed forth on the right hand.

“That, why that’s the Maas Lighthouse,” answered the skipper. “It marks the entrance to the river, and we shall soon round it, and be in the open sea. You’ll then have the satisfaction of once more bounding over the heaving wave.”

“From previous experience I must own that I would rather escape that satisfaction,” observed the Count, making a long face. “Couldn’t we manage to make our way through some of the numerous canals which I have heard intersect Holland in all directions?”

“We should have been a week or two, or even a month about it, if we had made the attempt,” answered the skipper. “We cannot tack in the canals as we can in the open sea. Now we can stretch away from the land as far as we like and then go about again, till we can head up again for the