“They’re cutting his head off,” whispers Haring. “It’s worth two thousand caroli at Alva’s tent.”
Guy knows whose head the Dutch sailor means, and his soul grows very hard and cruel to the Spaniards. But this only adds to his resolve to keep his vow to his dead comrade, even at the cost of life.
“It was a Berserker oath,” he mutters, “but I’ll keep it.” And gazes at his foes who have done his friend to death with something of that noble madness that burned in the Berserker’s veins, that rage to slay his enemies without thought of life, that exultation to kill, no matter whether he goes down or no, so long as he has his fill of slaughter and revenge.
But the Dutch sailor’s voice brings fighting from the romantic to the matter of fact basis. He says: “Captain Chester, we’re in a bad way. We’re on the wrong side of the Diemerdyk. Without weapons we’re in a bad way. We can’t recross it to our friends, for the whole causeway is now lined by those infernal Spanish troops. But, we’ve sent a few of them ahead of us to-day, and will do for a few more before they do for us, though we’ve only got teeth and nails to do it with,” the two having been compelled to throw away their arms to gain the boat.
“We’re not on the wrong side of the Diemerdyk,” Guy returns stoutly. “At least, I am not.”
“Why?” asks Haring, opening his eyes.
“Because I go to Haarlem, and you’re the man to take me there. You know all this country?”
“Every drop of water, every grain of sand in it. That’s why I fight for it.”
“Then you, perhaps, know some way by which we can get from here to the Haarlem Lake.”
“Without arms?” says the Dutchman. “It’ll be difficult; we can’t fight, and I—I hate to run from Spaniards!”