Chapter XIII: "exiled, and Yet at Home."

WE rode all that night, and in the morning we found ourselves in a small seaport town, or rather fishing village, for it was little more. There was but scant time for me to observe it. There was a low-lying fog, and we could not even see the edge of the water in the dull twilight. A breeze sprung up with the sun, however, the fog lifted like a curtain, and showed a tolerably-sized vessel lying off shore.

"There she is, thank Heaven!" said our conductor. "But we must waste no time. It will not do to lose this breeze."

We rode straight to the water's edge, where our conductor made a signal. A boat put off from the ship, and in a few minutes we found ourselves on board.

What a strange, desolate thing it seemed to watch the shore of England fading away, and think that in all likelihood, I should never see it again. In truth, we came near to never seeing any shore again, for the breeze increased to a gale, and for some time we were in a good deal of danger. But our ship was stout, and the Dutch are bold and skillful sailors, and so it came to pass that on the fifth morning after leaving England, I opened my eyes, and, looking at the tiny window, I caught sight of a low-lying bit of green.

I was not many minutes in arranging my dress and joining my uncle on deck. What a strange scene it was! We were sailing on what seemed a great inland lake, shifting our course every five minutes. All about, now near at hand, now on the far horizon, were long lines of high green banks, over which peeped, now and then, the top of a tree, or a fantastical church steeple, with a fish-shaped weather-vane. The sky was clear, and a fresh, pleasant breeze was blowing; but the water was still rough from last night's storm, and seemed, even to my inexperienced eye, to be full of currents and eddies.

It was the oddest landscape, if landscape it could be called, that I had ever seen, and seemed as if it might have come up from Neptune's kingdom, like a whale, to have a breath of fresh air and a look at the world, and might be expected to dive again at any moment. And, indeed, it hath a trick of diving at times with unreverent suddenness. More than once while I lived there, we heard of a whole town or district disappearing in the night, leaving no trace to show where it had been.

"What is this, uncle?" I asked.

"This is Holland, my niece—Holland, our asylum, and that of many another wanderer. These are the Isles of Zealand, and we shall soon be at home."

My uncle spoke in a tone of enthusiasm which I could not understand.

"And what are these great green banks which we see on every side? Are they ramparts?"

"Ay, child, ramparts against the Dutchman's greatest foe and best friend, the sea. But for them, all yonder fertile fields would be under water, or at least but stagnant morasses, the haunts of wild fowl."

"The enemy seems to have had the best of it yonder!" said I, pointing to a place where innumerable active little figures were running to and fro, like ants in a disturbed ant-hill.

"Yes, I doubt we shall hear of mischief," said the captain, who could speak English very well. "Such a gale as we have had makes wild work with the dykes, though 'twas not as bad as though it had blown from another quarter."

"But who has built all these great arks?" I ventured to ask, looking with amazement at the high banks and heavy stone-work, which I could now see quite plainly.

"The Hollanders and Zealanders themselves, young lady!" Answered the captain, with justifiable pride. "For three hundred years and more, we have been conquering this country from the sea. Some time or other we may have to conquer it again from another power, who knows?"

Who knew, indeed! Only, a few weeks ago I heard that in their contest for liberty with the cruel Spaniards, the Hollanders had cut these same dykes, and let in the salt sea on their grand farms and beautiful towns. Any one who has ever lived in Holland will understand what must have been their zeal for liberty to make them willing to let so much dirt into their houses. I hope with all my heart they may succeed, for if any people on earth have the right to their own country it is the Dutch.

"When shall we be at Rotterdam?" asked my uncle.

"Why, that is more than I can tell," was the answer, "but if all goes well, I hope we shall find ourselves at the Boomtzees to-morrow morning. You know, my friend, this is not a channel to be walked over blindfold."

I could not help seeing that for myself as I observed how carefully our good captain watched the course of the vessel and how often he heaved the lead. I understood that the gale by disturbing the shifting sand and sandbanks had made the navigation more troublesome than usual. In fact, we were aground once, but our commander's seamanship and the rising tide soon took us off. At every possible interval, the men were busy cleaning and scraping, varnishing and painting, so that the ship began to assume quite a holiday appearance.

I went to bed at last, but not to sleep, except by fits and snatches, awakened every moment by the welcome sounds of cocks crowing, cattle lowing, and the lovely music of church bells playing tunes before they struck the hour. At last, weariness conquered and I fell into a deep sleep, from which I was waked by my uncle's voice.

"Come, my maid. Here we are at home. Hasten your preparations that we may go ashore."

It did not seem much like home to me as I followed my uncle along the quay, having a line of ships on one side and a row of fine painted warehouses, and dwellings on the other. I felt more like somebody in a fantastic dream. Here was a warehouse where great foreign looking bales were being carried in, while in the window stood pots of flowers behind the clear glass. There, we met a group of what were evidently country women, who yet wore bands and headdresses of gold and silver, with great gold earrings dangling over their cheeks and bosoms. And again, two maid-servants in the same odd attire were cleaning the outside of a house, yea, scrubbing the very bricks, with as much zeal and apparent pleasure as my Lady Frances would have shown at her music.

And then the language! I could not understand it, and yet it sounded as if I ought to know every word. Presently we turned off the quay, the Boomtzees as they call it, and went through two or three narrow streets, and over more bridges than I ever counted afterward. At last we came into a kind of little place or square where grass was growing, and flowers blooming in little parterres like the figures in a Persian rug. This square was surrounded by neat houses, as fantastically decorated as those we had seen before, and looking as if no dust or smoke had ever dared to come near them. At the largest and handsomest of these, my uncle stopped.

"This is our house," said he. "Pray God we find all well."

He knocked as he spoke, but had hardly withdrawn his hand from the knocker, when a light foot was heard on the stairs, and Avice, looking not at all like a heart-broken widow, threw herself into her father's arms, and drew him into the house. I followed, feeling somehow inexpressibly forlorn and lonely.

"Why how is this?" asked my uncle, holding Avice off and looking at her. "Methinks my drooping flower is blooming again."

"Ay, and with good reason," answered Avice. "After all our fears, Garrett has come home safe and sound, and not much the worse for his captivity among the Moors."

"Heaven be praised! But, daughter, you do not speak to your guest. Do you not know her?"

Avice turned—I verily believe she had taken no note of me before—and looked at me for a moment with a gaze so like one of her old innocent looks of wonder, that I could not forbear smiling.

"Loveday, it is Loveday!" she exclaimed, and I had no cause to find fault with my welcome. I was led up stairs all in a moment, and into a parlor where sat my Aunt Holland, looking not so much older than when I saw her last. What a meeting it was. How we women talked and laughed and cried, and asked endless questions and staid for no answers. How old Sambo, his wool whiter than any sheep's, kissed my hand and blubbered and giggled, all in a breath, and afterward danced a dance of triumph out in the courtyard. By and by Avice would lead me to my room to refresh myself with a change of dress before eating.

I declare, when I was left alone in the room, I was afraid to stir. I thought we had been neat at the convent, but our utmost cleanness was sluttery compared to that which reigned here. The glass windows, which were seen every where in Holland long before they were common in gentlemen's houses in England, were clear as air, and the laced curtains which veiled the lower parts whiter than any snow. Beautiful pots of Delft ware, holding growing and blossoming plants, stood in the window-seat, and the very floor was of rare wood waxed and polished like a mirror, so as to make walking somewhat perilous to the unaccustomed foot. The bed was all in white and pale blue, and there was not so much as a speck of dust to be seen any where.

Avice left the room, and presently came back with an armful of clean linen and a gown. She would help me to dress, but that I would not allow, so bidding me come down when I was ready, she left me. I dressed myself at last, and went back to the room I had left, where I found a table spread with all sorts of good things, while a tall, handsome, solemn-looking maid-servant, wearing the same sort of head ornament I had seen in the street, kept bringing still more. Here I was introduced to my cousin's husband, a stately gentleman, but looking worn and sunburned. I had found my appetite by this time, and did full justice to the dainties before me.

"And Katherine is well?" asked my uncle.

"Yes, very well; and her new babe. The little lad hath had the ague, but is recovered—so she writes."

"Ay, they are like to have a fine wreath of olive branches," said Mynheer Van Alstine, with something of a sigh. "Methinks they might spare us one."

"All in good time," returned my aunt. Then to me: "So you have never married, sweetheart?"

"No, dear aunt," I answered, feeling my cheeks grow red.

"We must find her a husband somewhere," said Mynheer Van Alstine. "It will never do to leave so fine a maid to comb St. Catherine's hair, as they say in France."

"All in good time," repeated my uncle, smiling.

"Loveday is not so old or so foul-favored but she can afford to wait a while to comfort her poor old uncle. What, sweetheart—wilt thou live single for my sake, since my own girls have been carried away captive by these piratical Dutchmen?"

"I desire no better fate," said I.

Whereat he laughed, and addressing himself to his son-in-law, he began to ask about his captivity among the Barbary Moors.

"So they were not unkind to you?"

"Nay, they treated me well enough so soon as they found out I was no Spaniard," answered the gentleman. "They hate the Spaniards, and with good reason."

"I wonder who doth not," said mine uncle, under his breath.

"I had traded with them before now, and could speak their language, after a fashion," continued my cousin Garrett. "I had once been able to do some service to a merchant of Tripoli, and I thought if I could get speech of him, he might do me a good turn. At last, after long waiting, I succeeded in sending him word, and in a few days I found myself in his house and treated with all kindness. He found means for me to go to Smyrna, and from thence the way home was easy."

"It was well you fell into the hands of the Moors, and not into the claws of the Inquisition," said my uncle. "Strange that one should find better treatment at the hands of heathens and infidels than of those who call themselves Christians."

"We may find those same claws clutching at our throats even here, and that before we know it," observed Garrett. "I can tell you, father, I like not the signs of the times. But will you walk to the warehouse with me, and I will see that our fair cousin here hath her finery sent home safely."

"'Tis but little finery the poor maid hath brought with her," answered my uncle, smiling. "Our flight was too secret and sudden for that. But I will walk with you, and we will leave the women to gossip to their heart's content."

"As if they would not gossip worse than any women when they get two or three together," said Avice, laughing. "But sit you down, and rest, Loveday. I will but give some orders, and be with you again directly."

She set an arm-chair for me as she spoke, and I was not sorry to be left alone a few minutes, for my head was fairly whirling.

The room where I sat was wide and high, handsomer than any in Suffolk house, and fairly crowded with carved and inlaid cabinets, damask-covered chairs and little tables. The projecting window was partly veiled by broad white curtains, and just above it was an arrangement of bright mirrors, jointed curiously together, whereof I could not at first perceive the use, but I presently discovered that by it one was enabled to see, without being seen, all that went on in the street. The little square or place before the house was green as emerald, and not a speck or stick was to be seen on its surface, while a pond in the midst gave entertainment to a pair of swans and some white ducks. On the highest chimney of a fine house across the square was a pile of rubbish, at which I was wondering, when I saw a long-legged and long-billed bird alight near it, and begin strutting up and down in a pompous way, that reminded me of the old beadle in our parish church in London.

"What is that bird?" I asked of Aunt Joyce, who just then entered the room.

"Why 'tis a stork, child. The people here treat them as a kind of sacred animal, and the man who should kill one would be looked upon as a murderer. 'Tis counted a very lucky thing to have a stork's nest on one's house. We have a fine one. 'Tis said that the young birds will carry their old parents on their shoulders, and that the parents will perish in the fire rather than desert their young. Every one is glad to see the storks come back in the spring."

"No wonder, if they are such good creatures. But, aunt, are all the people here as neat in their ways as my cousin? The house is so clean, I am almost afraid to move for fear of soiling something."

"You will see," answered my aunt. "I do think, niece, that Dutch women in general think of their houses not so much as places to dwell in, as objects on which to exercise their love for cleansing. 'Tis said that the pastor of Brook, which is the very Paradise of neatness, found it hard to interest the women of his parish in heavenly things, till he described Heaven as a place where golden pavements admitted of unlimited scouring. Avice falls in with these ways easily enough. You know she was always a born housekeeper, but I fancy poor Katherine is looked upon as a helpless slattern by her Dutch neighbors. Happily for her, Arthur's congregation is made up of English and Scotch people, who are not quite so particular."

"And Katherine is happy in her marriage?"

"Oh, yes. Her husband is one of the best of men, and she hath four lovely babes—the last I have not seen. They are not rich, nor ever will be, at least in this world's goods, but they have treasure in Heaven, ay and in this world also. I never saw a better ordered family of children. 'Tis a great grief to Garrett and Avice that they have none; but, as I tell them, there is time enough, and it may be better after all," said my aunt, sighing. "In a gale, those are best off who spread the least sail."

"But is not the Protestant religion allowed here?" I asked, in surprise. "I thought there was no danger on that score."

"'Tis rather winked at than allowed," replied my aunt. "The emperor is a crafty man, and knows well the temper and drift of this people. I believe he will avoid a quarrel if he can, and he is not a man to be driven by the Church of Rome further or faster than he likes to go. But he grows old, and talks at times of abdicating in favor of his son, who is, as all men say, a cold, cruel bigot, valuing nothing so much as what he calls—God save the mark—Christian and Catholic unity. I believe the hour which puts the reins into his hands will be a sad one for Holland."

"Heaven help us," said I. "Is there to be no rest in this world?"

"Not that I know of," replied my aunt, with that sweet, wise smile that I remembered so well. "The Master, at least, has promised us none, and what right have we to expect peace with His worst enemy. Mark my word, child, if the day ever does come that the church and the world have no controversy, that will be the worst day the church will ever see. But now tell me of our friends, the Davises. Were they not greatly relieved to hear of Margaret's safety?"

"They had not heard it, the last I knew," I answered, surprised. "Where is she?"

"At Amsterdam, with her husband, who has fallen on his feet as I may say, having gotten work in one of the great printing houses, where his skill hath already raised him to a high place, and Margaret hath a school for young maids, which is very successful."

"And so it should be. One better fitted for such an office could not be. I hope I may see her, for she hath been one of the best friends I ever had."

But I must not linger over the history of those quiet, happy days; for happy they were spite of the secret grief and longing which no one guessed—or so I believed. I had thought the matter over and over, and had gained all the light I could from an honest Study of Holy Scripture, and I could not see that I was guilty of any sin in loving Walter Corbet. It was not sacrilege, as I had first believed, since no word in the Bible prohibited priests from marrying. I might make my love a sin, it was true, if I let it make me gloomy or discontented; if I brooded over it and occupied my thoughts therewith so as to interfere with my duties to God or man. But this I was humbly resolved not to do. My Father had laid this cross upon me, and I would bear it till he saw fit to remove it, or to change it for that crown which he hath promised to them that endure to the end. I had read some romances and tales of maids who died for love or had unworthily cast themselves away. The first might perhaps come—the last I thought never. It seemed to me, and does so seem now, that the very fact of a woman's loving honestly would make her self-respecting and discreet. Passion might make women act unworthily—true love never!

Thus thinking and resolving, I went to work with all my might at whatever my hands could find to do, and I only wished it were more. Garrett Van Alstine was still rich despite a few losses, and my uncle was also well-to-do. Servants were plenty, and I soon found the Dutch maids brooked little interference with their ways. There seemed to be no indigent people; one never saw a beggar in the street; and even in the poorest parts of the town there were the same comfort and neatness, though of course not the same amount of luxury, which were found in our own neighborhood.

I made a long visit to Katherine, and one to Margaret Hall, in Amsterdam. I could have found plenty to do in either place, for Kate's olive branches, as Garrett called them, had sprung very close together, and though Arthur's congregation gave according to their means for their pastor's support, yet those means were not great. There were plenty both of steps and stitches to be taken in the little parsonage, and I would have liked well to stay with Katherine, whose English ways, to tell the honest truth, suited me better than Avice's Dutch ones.

Margaret Hall was, if not rich, yet well-to-do. Her school had grown to as large a size as she could manage, and both she and her husband would have liked me to take it off her hands, and have her free to help her husband in correcting of the press and the like. The work would have suited me well enough, but my uncle would not hear of my leaving him, and indeed showed more of his old choleric temper on the occasion than I had yet seen. Of course his will was my law, so I said no more about the matter.

At last however, I found work nearer home. There was an English congregation in Rotterdam, at present without a pastor. Many of them were poor people who had fled on account of their faith, losing all for the sake of the gospel. I soon got in the way of visiting among them, and finding there were a good many children, I proposed to my uncle with some diffidence—not knowing how he would like it—that I should set up a small school for the little maids, where they could learn to read, sew and spin, and other such arts as should help them to earn a living. I was pleasantly surprised to find him take up the idea with great pleasure, saying that he had often wished some one would do that work. The parents of the children were equally pleased. My uncle found out and furnished a small room, and I discovered a suitable assistant—such a person as we now should call a dame—in an elderly widow without children, a part of whose house we rented for the school. I soon had my rooms full of the little English girls, and there I regularly spent half my day overseeing the work, teaching the little things to read the Scriptures, and now and then moderating a little Dame Webster's zeal for discipline.

In this way I spent a not unhappy year, attending to my schools, taking lessons in lace-making and entertaining my uncle and cousins in the evening with music when we had no guests, which was not often, for Avice was in great favor with her husband's large family, and the good folks quickly adopted me as a kinswoman. I learned to talk Dutch pretty fluently, by the simple process of talking right or wrong, and by reading such books as I could lay hands on. My cousin's house was one of the gathering places of the distinguished reformers whereof Holland was full of at that time. They were a wonderful scholarly set of men, and much given to long theological discussions on matters which, it seemed to me, were altogether beyond the scope of human reason. Many times the discussion waxed so warm that I thought it would end in a downright rupture, but all would presently be friends again over the dainty supper dishes which Avice provided on these occasions, and I never saw men enjoy good things more.