"This is singular!" was his first thought, and then, "Why, no it isn't either! This is the result of the broken down dykes. How strange that I did not think of it at first!" And the worse it became, the more it pleased him, since it might mean ultimate relief and victory to the city. Finally he found himself wading through several inches of water, and he took infinite, boyish delight in slopping through its muddy depths, splashing the drops from side to side as he walked. In due time he reached Delft, and stopped to get a hearty meal at a baker's shop, with a few coins he had in his pocket. Thus refreshed and rested, he continued on his way.
Darkness at length overtook him, and abandoning all hope of reaching Rotterdam that night, he crept into a farmer's barn, and in the hayloft slept the sleep of healthy weariness, till the first streaks of dawn tinted the horizon. Trudging on his road again, without either a breakfast or the prospect of one, it was noon before he reached the goal of his desire, Rotterdam, where lay ill and despairing the idol of his boyish dreams, William, Prince of Orange-Nassau.
Gysbert had never been in Rotterdam, consequently he was compelled to inquire his way frequently. Ascertaining that the Prince was then stopping at a house on the Hoog Straat, and being directed to that thoroughfare, he was not long in arriving at his destination. It was a much smaller establishment than the palace of the Prinsenhof in Delft, and to the boy's astonishment there seemed to be absolutely no one about the premises. The large front entrance was not locked, and having knocked in vain for many minutes, he pushed open the door and entered.
Nothing greeted him but deserted halls and rooms. He lingered about in the corridors for a while, hoping that someone might come in. Then his attention became attracted by occasional groans and muttered ejaculations from the room above. Fearing that someone, possibly the Prince himself, might be in trouble, he decided to go up and see if he might render any assistance. He crept up softly, and guided by the sounds, reached an open doorway and peeped in.
Tossing and moaning on a bed, lay the gaunt form of a man. One glance sufficed to convince Gysbert that it was William of Orange, and that he was desperately ill. Why the great head of his country should be thus deserted by every one of his attendants in his trouble, was more than Gysbert could fathom. A natural hesitancy, however, kept him from intruding on the privacy of the sick man's bedroom, and he stood outside for a time, watching and wondering if there were anything he might do.
The Prince lay in a huge, four-post bed, raised on a sort of dias or platform. At his feet on the coverlet sat a little brown and white spaniel, who whined plaintively as if in answer to his master's groans. When Gysbert appeared in the doorway, the animal sprang up barking furiously, and tried to wake his master. But the Prince was at the time in a sort of stupor, and paid no heed to the animal's cries. The dog soon perceived that the intruder attempted no harm, and settled himself in his former post.
Gysbert knew well why the Prince was attended by this faithful beast. Two years before at the siege of Mons, he had been surprised one night while asleep in his tent, by a party of Spaniards who had planned to capture him. A little spaniel who slept in his quarters sprang up barking and scratching his hands. The Prince thus wakened found time to escape, but had it not been for the faithful little animal, the Netherlands would have lost their strongest protector. For the rest of his life, the Prince was never without a spaniel of the same breed who slept nightly in his room.
Gysbert had ample time to note what manner of man was this his idol. His forehead was high, noble, and marked with many lines of care. The expression of his face, even racked with burning fever, was of a tender, strong and fatherly benignity. Near by lay his armor and sword, on the hilt of which was carved in Latin his chosen motto:—
"Sævis tranquillus in undis!"