There is a little boy ten or twelve years of age about here who seems to derive great pleasure from our society, although he cannot understand one word of English. One day, after sitting quietly for a long time, while we are conversing together, he repeats impatiently in his own language: “I have listened and listened to your talk, and I cannot understand one word. I do not think you are talking sense at all.”
Alas, poor child! You are not the only one who has listened and listened, trying in vain to find a gleam of intelligence in the foreigner’s gibberish. Ignorance of the language of a nation causes it to appear to one like a vast sealed volume, which he knows only by the pictures on the title page.
I have written at length of the Island of Marken, one of the most noted of the “Dead cities of Holland,” and now, let us take a peep at the sister city of Volendam, which lies four miles north of Monnikendam. As we do not wish to visit this place when all the men are off on their fishing expeditions, we choose for our excursion a clear bright Sunday, a day on which the men will surely be at home, and their sea horses at anchor in the harbor.
Procuring a large carriage and a powerful horse, a difficult thing to obtain at short notice, we direct our driver to jog along slowly that we may enjoy the beauty of the surrounding country. We drive over a fine road, level and well ballasted; a good road for the bicycle: in fact all the roads of Holland, city and country, are kept in perfect condition. It is a charming day, and the balmy atmosphere and the refreshing breeze which sweeps over the Zuyder Zee have a soothing effect upon mind and body. This would be a great country for invalids, and those who seek rest and change from the demands of fashion and social life. There is no fashion here; only pure air and lovely peaceful beauty everywhere, with good wholesome food and kind hearts to extend a cordial welcome to the weary stranger. Added to this is the very moderate cost of a sojourn in this delightful region.
Occasionally we pass a small cart or wagon drawn by dogs, the driver a young girl who is comfortably seated in the vehicle, now and then administering to the animals, by means of a short stick, reminders not to lag on the way. These dogs are not the ordinary house dog which is seen in our country; but are powerful and muscular creatures, as perhaps I have already said, and so cross and savage when roused, that to secure the safety of the persons near them they are closely muzzled. Being ignorant of their peculiar traits, one day while admiring a couple of fine draught dogs which are resting near a wagon, I approach them too closely; my enthusiasm is suddenly cooled as one of them springs viciously at me, striking me heavily on the chest, and he certainly would have chipped a good sized piece of flesh from my body had his muzzle not prevented this catastrophe. Hereafter I keep a distance of many feet between me and these animals, and others of their species.
| “This strange looking highway runs lengthwise through the town.” (See page 243.) |
After a lovely drive of an hour, we arrive at the old town which is as wonderful and interesting as its sister city. It too is built upon the banks of the Zuyder Zee. We stand upon the only street in the place, which in appearance resembles the back bone of a whale, with small brick houses on either side. This strange looking highway runs lengthwise through the town. The street is narrow: horses and dogs are never seen upon it, but there are hundreds of children, who gather in great throngs around our horse, wondering at the strange animal, and declaring him to be a huge dog, for many of them have never seen a horse before. Our appearance is also a great event to them, and the visit creates as much excitement on one side as the other. It is a “red letter day” for both the townspeople and ourselves.