Each glared at the other. Each tried to push his big craft ahead. Crash! They stuck, and jammed, the man at the right, the man at the left, pushing with all his force with a giant pole, each push locking both barges the tighter.
We were on their heels, and on ours was the whole press of boats let out from the lock, surging heavily forward.
Alb shouted something in Dutch. "I'm saying that the only thing is for one to give way, and let the other go by in advance, not both try to strain through together," he explained, when I anxiously demanded to know what was happening.
Both men shook their heads, and grumbled, while from behind rose a Babel of cries and adjurations.
"They won't," said Alb. "They say that they will never give way to each other. They would smash their boats first. If anything happens to part them they won't mind, because it will be fate, and neither one will have given up for the other. Meanwhile, they say they're sorry, but they won't move, and the rest of us must fare the best we can."
"Can't the lock-keeper do anything?" I asked.
"He can swear." Alb smiled; and I believe there was something in him that sympathized with the two obstinate brutes.
"For goodness' sake tell them we'll give each one a hundred—no, a thousand—gulden, if necessary, if only they'll agree as to which is to yield, and move out of our road."
"I'll tell them," said Brederode, dubiously; and a few words passed between the three.
"I knew what they'd answer," he announced, in a moment. "They say they won't do it for a million. 'Every man has his price,' is a proverb that doesn't count with Dutchmen, where principles are concerned. Now, I'm going to try and force a way, but I'm afraid 'Mascotte' hasn't force enough, and if not, it's all up, for here comes MacNairne."