he and the Count walked through its ancient streets. “Everything about it seems to indicate that if it ever were alive it must have been a long time ago. What curious old houses, how quaint in form; many of them also are decorated with sculpture of all sorts, and, on my word, excessively well executed too.”
“I should be very unwilling to pass many days here,” remarked the Count, as passing along street after street they scarcely met a creature, quadruped or biped. The houses seemed untenanted—not a voice, not a sound was heard; yet they were all clean, in good preservation, and well painted, mostly of a yellow colour with red roofs, many of them with gable ends, one story being smaller than the other, so that towards the summit they presented an outline of steps. There were also numerous gateways, some handsomely carved, but they led nowhere, and indeed no one was seen to go in or out at them.
“I cannot stand this,” said the Count. “Let us go back to the port.” Here a certain amount of trade was going on. Hoorn is engaged largely in the curing of herrings; some vessels also were building, and it was evident from the number of cheeses stacked up ready for exportation that it must carry on a considerable commerce in that article. Floors above floors were piled with round red cannon-balls, emitting an odour powerful if not pleasant.
“After all, Hoorn is not so dead as I supposed,” observed the Baron.
Finding the skipper they embarked.
“You intend, I hope, to land us at Amsterdam to-night,” said the Count to the skipper.
“Don’t think there’s the slightest chance of it,” was the answer. “The wind has fallen, it will be stark calm in a few minutes; for what I can see it will be a calm all the night through and to-morrow also.”
“Then I propose that we go to dinner,” said the Baron. “I hope that it will be ready soon.”
“Dinner is it you want?” exclaimed the skipper. “What, did you not dine at Hoorn?”