Chapter Six.
When the Count and the Baron awoke, they found to their surprise that the sloop was not only afloat but under weigh, and sailing over the waters of the Zuyder Zee. The skipper, who was short and broad, had a crew of two men, who were, he assured his passengers, amply sufficient for navigating the sloop.
“We shall not reach Amsterdam quite as soon as you might have expected, Mynheers,” he said; “for I purpose putting in at Monnickendam for a few hours. It is not a very lively place, though it was once a wealthy city, one of the twenty great towns of Holland, but its glory has passed away.”
As the object of the Count and the Baron was to see the world, they willingly agreed to visit this dead city of the Zuyder Zee. They were accordingly rowed on shore in the sloop’s boat.
“Well, this does seem to be a city of the dead, or else the inhabitants, if there are any, have gone to sleep,” observed the Baron, as he and the Count paced the streets, which were payed with yellow bricks. The houses were all red, and the Venetian shutters green—one house was almost exactly like another; not a door nor a window was open, not a face was to be seen at any of them; through the entire length of one long thoroughfare they met not a single person—not a cat, nor a dog, nor a sign of life. They went through street after street—every street was the same; only when they returned to the harbour a few people collected to inspect them, examining minutely their boots and hats, their coats and umbrellas.
“Well, gentlemen,” said the Baron, making them a profound bow, “you will remember us should we ever have the pleasure of paying your defunct city another visit.”
He and the Count stepped into the boat which was waiting to take them on board the sloop. Whatever other business the skipper transacted at Monnickendam, he had not omitted to imbibe a considerable amount of schiedam, and although when he stepped on deck he was as steady as a church steeple, there was a twinkle in his eye, and a mode of expressing himself which showed what he had been about. The Count and the Baron, however, did not at first discover this. When the sloop was got under weigh, he invited them into the cabin to partake of the dinner, which one of the crew had prepared. The wind was light, and the sloop glided steadily on.
“After all, I really do think I like the sea,” said the Count. “This style of navigation suits me—no trouble, no fatigue. We can eat and drink and go to sleep, and return on deck to enjoy the fresh air. When, Captain, do you think we shall reach Rotterdam?”
“Reach Rotterdam, Mynheers, why when the sloop gets there,” answered the skipper. “I cannot say how soon we shall reach it, the winds must know more about that than I do. We have Uitdam and Durgerdam to pass first, and the wind may fail us or become contrary. It was not in our agreement to tell you when we should get there; have patience, Mynheers, have patience; let the world go round as it likes, and have patience.”