“Fly now, sneak next, fight afterwards,” mutters Guy, “and we’ve got to be quick about it.” For the Spaniards are attempting to get a boat across [[190]]the causeway to pursue them. Fortunately there are two pairs of oars in their boat, which is a light one, and bending to these Haring and Chester take course toward the southwest end of the little Diemer pond, scarce two miles in length.
They are now safe from immediate pursuit, as the Spaniards, seeing them row away, have desisted in their efforts to get a boat over the dyke; so the two go into hasty consultation.
“It’s impossible to escape that way,” explains Haring, pointing to the east, where the Utrecht road borders the lake. “That’s too heavily patrolled. We may get out at the west where the lake joins the river Amstel. It’s only a mile south of Amsterdam; they have guard boats there.”
This is the direction in which Guy wants to go, and he eagerly assents to this proposition, suggesting: “In the waterways and lakes with which this country is covered is there not some route by which we can get ourselves in this boat to the Haarlem meer?”
“Yes, there’s one way,” replies Haring. “But the first six miles will be with our lives in our hands. The last twelve miles will be in the debatable land where we may meet enemies and have to fight them, or friends who will give us succor. If we had arms,” mutters the Hollander, “we would have a fighting chance to get to Haarlem Lake, and then a running one of dodging Alva’s vessels.”
“Arms!” mutters Guy, “you have your sailor’s knife, and I have got my poniard.”
“Voor den duivel! Then this affair goes with poniards and knives,” says Haring with a grim chuckle. “It always pleases me to get within stab of a Spaniard.”
Next the two examine the boat carefully; finding that she has a mast and sail stored forward, which pleases them, as there is a slight breeze that is favorable. Steeping this mast they hoist sail.
Then Haring, who is examining the lockers in the boat, suddenly gives a cry of joy.
“What is it?” asks Guy.