Anxious to acquit himself of his promise to Doña Hermoine and deliver his charge at Haarlem, Guy, hoisting the flag of Orange, anchors in the course of the next day at Zandvoort. Landing by boat upon the beach near that little Dutch fishing village, Chester, accompanied by ten of his tars as escort, makes a pleasant journey of five miles through the wooded dunes to the river Spaarne, upon which stream lies the pretty city of Haarlem, basking in the sunshine, its streets filled with bustling burghers, the bells of its great church pealing triumphantly Protestant devotion, the women laughing, the children playing about its neat Dutch homes and gaily colored pentices.
Coming in to the place by St. Jan’s Gate, which is held strongly by burgher guard armed with arquebuses and cross bows, Chester is conducted to Captain Wybout Ripperda, commander of the city, and giving his name and business, he finds that the “First of the English” is very well known by reputation in this city of Holland as a friend of the cause. So very shortly thereafter Guy is permitted to conduct Juffrouw Bodé Volcker to her relatives, the family of her uncle, one Pieter Kies, who has made a fortune by his bleaching fields.
After spending the evening with the prosperous and hospitable Hollander, he leaves the fair Mina happy and contented, though very solicitous about the man she loves.
“If word comes to you of Oliver, you’ll try to let me know,” she pleads, then says, a tremble in her voice: “God bless you for taking care of the helpless. Oliver will thank you for it himself if he lives to meet you,” next smiles: “You are not what you seem to be. You are not the Spanish captain, you are a patriot, like my bachelor, and still,” here her eyes open, “you are the bachelor of Alva’s daughter!” Then seeing consternation on Guy’s face, she adds impulsively: “Trust me, I’ll keep your secret, for I know every kiss of Doña Hermoine is at risk of your life.”
Not altogether satisfied that another has his secret, Chester makes his way to the pretty little inn of the [[167]]Swan. There he spends a very comfortable night between clean sheets (for the Holland hostelries were very much better than those of Antwerp) mine host being a young, resolute looking Fleming named Hasselaer. He and his mother, a widow of about forty, keep the Swan in very good order.
The next morning, after a pleasant meal, the Englishman repairs to Captain Ripperda and demands passport for himself and his ten followers.
“Certainly,” replies the stout Dutch commander, “I am only happy to be of assistance to one who is such a friend to our cause. May you return to us in a happier day.”
“What could be happier than this?” answers Guy, looking at the pretty scene of bustling trade and thrifty commerce about him.
“Drommelsch! it is pleasant enough now,” says the Dutchman, “but God knows what may come of this war. We are quiet at present, but it is the quiet before the storm. Every town in Holland save Amsterdam is up in arms against Alva, and with this attack in his rear by Oliver at Mons, the news of which has just been brought to us, and with assistance from French Huguenots, as Condé and Coligny promise us, perchance when the cloud breaks it will not contain so much thunder and lightning—but God knows!”
And God does know what Ripperda does not, for had that stout Dutchman guessed what was coming to him and his, how they shall soon be eating the grass in the streets to try to keep their souls in their bodies, and then only saving themselves ultimately for Alva’s torturers and executioners, he and every man, woman and child that throng the streets of happy Haarlem would fly from it, leaving behind their household goods and their beloved homes as if they were accursed by God.