XIX
ON THE CANAL
The skating season had commenced unusually early; our boys were by no means alone upon the ice. The afternoon was so fine, that men, women, and children, bent upon enjoying the holiday, had flocked to the grand canal from far and near. Saint Nicholas had evidently remembered the favorite pastime; shining new skates were everywhere to be seen. Whole families were skimming their way to Haarlem or Leyden or the neighboring villages. The ice seemed fairly alive. Ben noticed the erect, easy carriage of the women, and their picturesque variety of costume. There were the latest fashions, fresh from Paris, floating past dingy, moth-eaten garments that had seen service through two generations; coal-scuttle bonnets perched over freckled faces bright with holiday smiles; stiff muslin caps, with wings at the sides, flapping beside cheeks rosy with health and contentment; furs, too, encircling the whitest of throats; and scanty garments fluttering below faces ruddy with exercise – In short every quaint and comical mixture of dry-goods and flesh that Holland could furnish, seemed sent to enliven the scene.
There were belles from Leyden, and fishwives from the border villages; cheese women from Gouda, and prim matrons from beautiful country-seats on the Haarlemmer Meer. Gray-headed skaters were constantly to be seen; wrinkled old women, with baskets upon their heads; and plump little toddlers on skates clutching at their mother's gowns. Some women carried their babies upon their backs, firmly secured with a bright shawl. The effect was pretty and graceful as they darted by, or sailed slowly past, now nodding to an acquaintance, now chirruping, and throwing soft baby-talk, to the muffled little ones they carried.
Boys and girls were chasing each other, and hiding behind the one-horse sleds, that, loaded high with peat or timber, pursued their cautious way along the track marked out as "safe." Beautiful, queenly women were there, enjoyment sparkling in their quiet eyes. Sometimes a long file of young men, each grasping the coat of the one before him, flew by with electric speed; and sometimes the ice squeaked under the chair of some gorgeous old dowager, or rich burgomaster's lady – who, very red in the nose, and sharp in the eyes, looked like a scare-thaw invented by old father Winter for the protection of his skating grounds. The chair would be heavy with footstoves and cushions, to say nothing of the old lady. Mounted upon shining runners it slid along, pushed by the sleepiest of servants, who, looking neither to the right nor the left, bent himself to his task while she cast direful glances upon the screaming little rowdies who invariably acted as body-guard.
As for the men, they were pictures of placid enjoyment. Some were attired in ordinary citizen's dress; but many looked odd enough with their short woolen coats, wide breeches, and big silver buckles. These seemed to Ben like little boys who had, by a miracle, sprung suddenly into manhood, and were forced to wear garments that their astonished mothers had altered in a hurry. He noticed, too, that nearly all the men had pipes, as they passed him whizzing and smoking like so many locomotives. There was every variety of pipes from those of common clay to the most expensive meerschaums mounted in silver and gold. Some were carved into extraordinary and fantastic shapes, representing birds, flowers, heads, bugs, and dozens of other things; some resembled the "Dutchman's pipe" that grows in our American woods; some were red, and many were of a pure snowy white; but the most respectable were those which were ripening into a shaded brown – The deeper and richer the brown, of course the more honored the pipe, for it was a proof that the owner, if honestly shading it, was deliberately devoting his manhood to the effort – What pipe would not be proud to be the object of such a sacrifice!
For a while, Ben skated on in silence. There was so much to engage his attention that he almost forgot his companions. Part of the time he had been watching the ice-boats as they flew over the great Haarlemmer Meer (or Lake), the frozen surface of which was now plainly visible from the canal. These boats had very large sails, much larger, in proportion, than those of ordinary vessels, and were set upon a triangular frame furnished with an iron "runner" at each corner, – the widest part of the triangle crossing the bow, and its point stretching beyond the stern. They had rudders for guiding, and brakes for arresting their progress; and were of all sizes and kinds, from small, rough affairs managed by a boy, to large and beautiful ones filled with gay pleasure parties, and manned by competent sailors, who smoking their stumpy pipes, reefed and tacked and steered with great solemnity and precision.
Some of the boats were painted and gilded in gaudy style and flaunted gay pennons from their mastheads; others white as snow, with every spotless sail rounded by the wind, looked like swans borne onward by a resistless current. It seemed to Ben as, following his fancy, he watched one of these in the distance, that he could almost hear its helpless, terrified cry, but he soon found that the sound arose from a nearer and less romantic cause – from an ice-boat not fifty yards from him, using its brakes to avoid a collision with a peat-sled.
It was a rare thing for these boats to be upon the canal and their appearance generally caused no little excitement among skaters, especially among the timid; but to-day every ice-boat in the country seemed afloat or rather aslide, and the canal had its full share.
Ben, though delighted at the sight, was often startled at the swift approach of the resistless, high-winged things threatening to dart in any and every possible direction. It required all his energies to keep out of the way of the passers-by, and to prevent those screaming little urchins from upsetting him with their sleds. Once he halted to watch some boys who were making a hole in the ice preparatory to using their fishing spears. Just as he concluded to start again, he found himself suddenly bumped into an old lady's lap. Her push chair had come upon him from the rear. The old lady screamed, the servant who was propelling her gave a warning hiss – In another instant Ben found himself apologizing to empty air; the indignant old lady was far ahead.
This was a slight mishap compared with one that now threatened him. A huge ice-boat, under full sail, came tearing down the canal, almost paralyzing Ben with the thought of instant destruction. It was close upon him! He saw its gilded prow, heard the schipper shout, felt the great boom fairly whizz over his head, was blind, deaf and dumb all in an instant, then opened his eyes, to find himself spinning some yards behind its great, skate-like rudder. It had passed within an inch of his shoulder, but he was safe! safe to see England again, safe to kiss the dear faces that for an instant had flashed before him one by one – father, mother, Robby and Jenny – that great boom had dashed their images into his very soul. He knew now how much he loved them. Perhaps this knowledge made him face complacently the scowls of those on the canal who seemed to feel that a boy in danger was necessarily a bad boy needing instant reprimand.
Lambert chided him roundly.
"I thought it was all over with you, you careless fellow! Why don't you look where you are going? Not content with sitting on all the old ladies' laps, you must make a Juggernaut of every ice-boat that comes along. We shall have to hand you over to the aanspreekers yet, if you don't look out!"
"Please don't," said Ben, with mock humility – then seeing how pale Lambert's lips were, added in a low tone:
"I do believe I thought more in that one moment, Van Mounen, than in all the rest of my past life."
There was no reply, and, for a while, the two boys skated on in silence.
Soon a faint sound of distant bells reached their ears.
"Hark!" said Ben, "what is that?"
"The carillons," replied Lambert. "They are trying the bells in the chapel of yonder village. Ah! Ben, you should hear the chimes of the 'New Church' at Delft; they are superb – nearly five hundred sweet-toned bells, and one of the best carilloneurs of Holland to play upon them. Hard work, though; they say the fellow often has to go to bed from positive exhaustion, after his performances. You see, the bells are attached to a kind of keyboard, something like they have on piano-fortes; there are also a set of pedals for the feet; when a brisk tune is going on, the player looks like a kicking frog fastened to his seat with a skewer."
"For shame," said Ben, indignantly.
Peter had, for the present, exhausted his stock of Haarlem anecdotes, and now, having nothing to do but to skate, he and his three companions were hastening to "catch up" with Lambert and Ben.
"That English lad is fleet enough," said Peter; "if he were a born Hollander he could do no better. Generally these John Bulls make but a sorry figure on skates – Hollo! Here you are, Van Mounen; why, we hardly hoped for the honor of meeting you again. Who were you flying from in such haste?"
"Snails," retorted Lambert. "What kept you?"
"We have been talking – and, beside, we halted once to give Poot a chance to rest."
"He begins to look rather worn out," said Lambert in a low voice.
Just then a beautiful ice-boat with reefed sail, and flying streamers, swept leisurely by. Its deck was filled with children muffled up to their chins. Looking at them from the ice you could see only smiling little faces imbedded in bright-colored, woolen wrappings. They were singing a chorus in honor of Saint Nicholas. The music, starting in the discord of a hundred childish voices, floated, as it rose, into exquisite harmony:
Friend of sailors, and of children!
Double claim have we,
As in youthful joy we're sailing,
O'er a frozen sea!
Nicholas! Saint Nicholas!
Let us sing to thee.
While through Wintry air we're rushing,
As our voices blend,
Are you near us? Do you hear us,
Nicholas, our friend?
Nicholas! Saint Nicholas!
Love can never end.
Sunny sparkles, bright before us,
Chase away the cold!
Hearts where sunny thoughts are welcome
Never can grow old —
Nicholas! Saint Nicholas! —
Never can grow old!
Pretty gift and loving lesson,
Festival and glee,
Bid us thank thee as we're sailing
O'er the frozen sea —
Nicholas! Saint Nicholas!
So we sing to thee!
XX
JACOB POOT CHANGES THE PLAN
The last note died away in the distance. Our boys, who in their vain efforts to keep up with the boat, had felt that they were skating backward, turned to look at one another.
"How beautiful that was!" exclaimed Van Mounen.
"Just like a dream!" said Ludwig.
Jacob drew close to Ben, giving his usual approving nod, as he spoke:
"Dat ish goot. Dat ish te pest vay – I shay petter to take to Leyden mit a poat!"
"Take a boat!" exclaimed Ben, in dismay – "why, man, our plan was to skate, not to be carried like little children – "
"Tuyfels!" retorted Jacob, "dat ish no little – no papies – to go for poat!"
The boys laughed, but exchanged uneasy glances. It would be great fun to jump on an ice-boat, if they had a chance; but to abandon so shamefully their grand undertaking – Who could think of such a thing?
An animated discussion arose at once.
Captain Peter brought his party to a halt.
"Boys," said he, "it strikes me that we should consult Jacob's wishes in this matter. He started the excursion, you know."
"Pooh!" sneered Carl, throwing a contemptuous glance at Jacob, "who's tired? We can rest all night at Leyden."
Ludwig and Lambert looked anxious and disappointed. It was no slight thing to lose the credit of having skated all the way from Broek to the Hague, and back again; but both agreed that Jacob should decide the question.
Good-natured, tired Jacob! He read the popular sentiment at a glance.
"Oh! no," he said, in Dutch. "I was joking. We will skate, of course."
The boys gave a delighted shout, and started on again with renewed vigor —
All but Jacob. He tried his best not to seem fatigued, and, by not saying a word, saved his breath and energy for the great business of skating. But in vain. Before long, the stout body grew heavier and heavier – the tottering limbs weaker and weaker. Worse than all, the blood, anxious to get far as possible from the ice, mounted to the puffy, good-natured cheeks, and made the roots of his thin, yellow hair glow into a fiery red.
This kind of work is apt to summon Vertigo, of whom good Hans Andersen writes – the same who hurls daring young hunters from the mountains, or spins them from the sharpest heights of the glaciers, or catches them as they tread the stepping-stones of the mountain torrent.
Vertigo came, unseen, to Jacob. After tormenting him a while, with one touch sending a chill from head to foot, with the next, scorching every vein with fever, she made the canal rock and tremble beneath him, the white sails bow and spin as they passed, then cast him heavily upon the ice.
"Hallo!" cried Van Mounen. "There goes Poot!"
Ben sprang hastily forward.
"Jacob! Jacob, are you hurt?"
Peter and Carl were lifting him. The face was white enough now. It seemed like a dead face – even the good-natured look was gone.
A crowd collected. Peter unbuttoned the poor boy's jacket, loosened his red tippet, and blew between the parted lips.
"Stand off, good people!" he cried, "give him air!"
"Lay him down," called out a woman from the crowd.
"Stand him upon his feet," shouted another.
"Give him wine," growled a stout fellow who was driving a loaded sled.
"Yes! yes, give him wine!" echoed everybody.
Ludwig and Lambert shouted in concert:
"Wine! wine! Who has wine!"
A sleepy-eyed Dutchman began to fumble mysteriously under the heaviest of blue jackets, saying as he did so:
"Not so much noise, young masters, not so much noise! The boy was a fool to faint off like a girl."
"Wine, quick!" cried Peter who, with Ben's help, was rubbing Jacob from head to foot.
Ludwig stretched forth his hand imploringly toward the Dutchman, who with an air of great importance was still fumbling beneath the jacket.
"Do hurry! He will die! Has any one else any wine?"
"He is dead!" said an awful voice from among the bystanders.
This startled the Dutchman.
"Have a care!" he said, reluctantly drawing forth a small blue flask, "this is schnaps. A little is enough."
A little was enough. The paleness gave way to a faint flush. Jacob opened his eyes, and – half bewildered, half ashamed, – feebly tried to free himself from those who were supporting him.
There was no alternative, now, for our party but to have their exhausted comrade carried, in some way, to Leyden. As for expecting him to skate any more that day, the thing was impossible. In truth, by this time each boy began to entertain secret yearnings toward ice-boats, and to avow a Spartan resolve not to desert Jacob. Fortunately a gentle, steady breeze was setting southward. If some accommodating schipper23 would but come along, matters would not be quite so bad after all.
Peter hailed the first sail that appeared; the men in the stern would not even look at him. Three drays on runners came along, but they were already loaded to the utmost. Then an ice-boat, a beautiful, tempting little one, whizzed past like an arrow. The boys had just time to stare eagerly at it when it was gone. In despair, they resolved to prop up Jacob with their strong arms, as well as they could, and take him to the nearest village.
At that moment a very shabby ice-boat came in sight. With but little hope of success, Peter hailed it, at the same time taking off his hat and flourishing it in the air.
The sail was lowered, then came the scraping sound of the brake, and a pleasant voice called out from the deck:
"What now?"
"Will you take us on?" cried Peter hurrying with his companions as fast as he could, for the boat was "bringing to" some distance ahead, "will you take us on?"
"We'll pay for the ride!" shouted Carl.
The man on board scarcely noticed him except to mutter something about its not being a trekschuit. Still looking toward Peter he asked:
"How many?"
"Six."
"Well, it's Nicholas' day – up with you! Young gentleman sick?" (nodding toward Jacob).
"Yes – broken down – skated all the way from Broek," answered Peter – "Do you go to Leyden?"
"That's as the wind says – It's blowing that way now – Scramble up!"
Poor Jacob! if that willing Mrs. Poot had only appeared just then, her services would have been invaluable. It was as much as the boys could do to hoist him into the boat. All were in at last. The schipper, puffing away at his pipe, let out the sail, lifted the brake, and sat in the stern with folded arms.
"Whew! How fast we go!" cried Ben. "This is something like! Feel better, Jacob?"
"Much petter, I tanks you."
"Oh, you'll be as good as new in ten minutes. This makes a fellow feel like a bird."
Jacob nodded, and blinked his eyes.
"Don't go to sleep, Jacob; it's too cold. You might never wake up, you know. Persons often freeze to death in that way."
"I no sleep," said Jacob confidently – and in two minutes he was snoring.
Carl and Ludwig laughed.
"We must wake him!" cried Ben; "it is dangerous, I tell you, – Jacob! Ja-a-c – "
Captain Peter interfered, for three of the boys were helping Ben for the fun of the thing.
"Nonsense! don't shake him! Let him alone, boys. One never snores like that when one's freezing. Cover him up with something. Here, this cloak will do; hey, schipper?" and he looked toward the stern for permission to use it.
The man nodded.
"There," said Peter, tenderly adjusting the garment, "let him sleep. He will be frisky as a lamb when he wakes. How far are we from Leyden, schipper?"
"Not more'n a couple of pipes," replied a voice, rising from smoke like the genii in fairy tales (puff! puff!), "likely not more'n one an' a half (puff! puff!) if this wind holds!" (puff! puff! puff!).
"What is the man saying, Lambert?" asked Ben, who was holding his mittened hands against his cheeks to ward off the cutting air.
"He says we're about two pipes from Leyden. Half the boors here on the canal measure distances by the time it takes them to finish a pipe."
"How ridiculous."
"See here, Benjamin Dobbs," retorted Lambert, growing unaccountably indignant at Ben's quiet smile; "see here, you've a way of calling every other thing you see on this side of the German ocean, 'ridiculous.' It may suit you, this word, but it don't suit me. When you want anything ridiculous just remember your English custom of making the Lord Mayor of London, at his installation, count the nails in a horseshoe to prove his learning."
"Who told you we had any such custom as that?" cried Ben, looking grave in an instant.
"Why, I know it, no use of any one telling me. It's in all the books – and it's true. It strikes me," continued Lambert, laughing in spite of himself, "that you have been kept in happy ignorance of a good many ridiculous things on your side of the map."
"Humph!" exclaimed Ben, trying not to smile. "I'll inquire into that Lord Mayor business when I get home. There must be some mistake. B-r-r-roooo! How fast we're going. This is glorious!"
It was a grand sail, or ride, I scarce know which to call it; perhaps "fly" would be the best word; for the boys felt very much as Sinbad did when, tied to the roc's leg, he darted through the clouds; or as Bellerophon felt when he shot through the air on the back of his winged horse Pegasus.
Sailing, riding, or flying, whichever it was, everything was rushing past, backward – and, before they had time to draw a long breath, Leyden itself, with its high peaked-roofs, flew half-way to meet them.
When the city came in sight it was high time to waken the sleeper. That feat accomplished, Peter's prophecy came to pass. Master Jacob was quite restored and in excellent spirits.
The schipper made a feeble remonstrance when Peter, with hearty thanks, endeavored to slip some silver pieces into his tough, brown palm.
"Ye see, young master," said he, drawing away his hand, "the regular line o' trade's one thing, and a favor's another."
"I know it," said Peter, "but those boys and girls of yours will want sweets when you get home. Buy them some in the name of Saint Nicholas."
The man grinned. "Aye, true enough, I've young 'uns in plenty, a clean boat-load of them. You are a sharp young master at guessing."
This time, the knotty hand hitched forward again, quite carelessly, it seemed, but its palm was upward. Peter hastily dropped in the money and moved away.
The sail soon came tumbling down. Scrape, scrape went the brake, scattering an ice shower round the boat.
"Good-bye, schipper!" shouted the boys, seizing their skates and leaping from the deck one by one, "many thanks to you!"
"Good-bye! good-b – Hold! here! stop! I want my coat."
Ben was carefully assisting his cousin over the side of the boat.
"What is the man shouting about? Oh, I know, you have his wrapper round your shoulders!"
"Dat ish true," answered Jacob, half jumping, half tumbling down upon the framework, "dat ish vot make him sho heavy."
"Made you so heavy, you mean, Poot?"
"Ya, made you sho heavy – dat ish true," said Jacob innocently, as he worked himself free from the big wrapper; "dere, now you hands it mit him straits way and tells him I voz much tanks for dat."
"Ho! for an inn!" cried Peter, as they stepped into the city. "Be brisk, my fine fellows!"