It was late in the evening ere we arrived at our destination, which proved to be the town of Haarlem, of which I had heard much with reference to its stubborn defence against the Spaniards. This was to be our prison for many dreary months.
We were placed in separate rooms, though during the day we were permitted to take exercise together. For a long time we hardly dared mention the possibilities of escape, with the thought of our previous attempt fresh in our minds. We frequently discoursed on the probable events that were occurring at home, but our guards refrained from giving us any information on the subject, though one or two of our new custodians spoke a few words of broken English at intervals.
Thus we knew not of the glorious victory of Albemarle over de Ruyter on the 25th of July following our capture; but by the sullen demeanour of the soldiers we guessed that once more the States of Holland were suffering for their audacity in questioning our supremacy on the sea.
Autumn passed, and winter, with intense cold, drew on apace. About this time I made an important discovery, which served to throw a little light on the mystery that enshrouded my existence.
One day the renegade sergeant came into my apartment. He had grown somewhat communicative of late, talking freely of the country in whose service he was, though very reserved in matters pertaining to the land of his birth. The feeling that I had seen him before grew apace, till on this occasion I asked him bluntly why he took service with our enemies.
His reply was a hideous scowl, and like a flash the truth came to my mind--it was Increase Joyce, my father's murderer!
For a moment I could scarce refrain from throwing myself upon him; but reflecting that little would be gained thus, and that much might be obtained by strategy, I refrained, and, shrugging my shoulders indifferently, I turned from him and walked to the farther part of the room.
I saw him no more that day, but on the day following he again entered my apartment or cell--call it which you will. Though feigning to avoid conversation with him, I found that his moody fit had passed, and that he was willing to talk.
Little by little I gathered his history, which, though mostly lies, gave me an insight into his movements and plans.
He had, he said, fled the country at the Restoration for political reasons, a price having been set upon his head. (I smiled grimly at this, knowing only too well why his head was thus valued.) He had served as a soldier of fortune on the Rhine and in the Low Countries, finally joining the army of the States of Holland and rising to his present rank; though, in justice to the Dutch be it said, he was never allowed to take up arms against his own countrymen.