The Chauffeur and the Chaperon Part 21

As a matter of fact, there are many opinions, and as I knew the history of the dispute, after all she had to turn to me, and listen. I talked to Starr, and at her, explaining how only experts could tell one river from another here, and even experts differed.

"Our waters are split up into so many channels that they're as difficult to separate one from the other as the twisted strands in a plait of hair," said I. "It was like Napoleon's colossal cheek, wasn't it, to claim the Netherlands for France, because they were formed from the alluvium of French rivers?"

Instantly the Chaperon ceased to admire Tibe's new and expensive collar, and opened a silver chain bag, also glittering with newness, which she had in her lap. From this she brought forth a note-book of Russia leather, and began to write with a stylographic pen, which had dangled in a gold case on a richly furnished chatelaine. This little lady had "done" herself well since yesterday.

"I shall take notes of everything," she announced. "That bit about Napoleon goes down first."

"Surely you knew, Aunt Fay," said the Mariner, with a warning in his lifted eyebrows.

"I don't know anything about Holland, except that it's flat and wet,"

she replied, defying him, as she can afford to do, now that, once an aunt, she must be always an aunt, as far as this tour is concerned.

"It's not the fas.h.i.+on in _my_ part of Scotland for ladies of position to know things about foreign countries they've not visited. It's considered frumpish, and though I may not be as young as I once was, I am _not_ frumpish."

She certainly is not. The real Lady MacNairne does not dress as smartly, or have such an air of Parisian elegance as this mysterious little upstart has put on since a.s.suming her part. Save for the gray hair and the hideous gla.s.ses, there could scarcely be a daintier figure than that of the Mariner's false Aunt Fay.

"However," she went on, "my doctor has recommended a tonic, and I shouldn't wonder if a spice of information might be a mental stimulant.

Anyhow, I intend to try it, and ask questions of everybody about everything."

All this she said with a quaint, bird-like air, and I began to be impressed with the curious fascination which emanates from this strange, small person. I am in her secret. I know she is a fraud, though of all else concerning her I am in ignorance--perhaps blissful ignorance. I have none too much respect for the little wretch, despite her gray hairs; yet, somehow, I felt at this moment that I was _on her side_. I was afraid that, if she asked any favor of me, I should run to do it; and I could imagine myself being a.s.s enough to quail before the mite's Liliputian displeasure. As for Starr, I could see that he dared not say his soul was his own, if she laid claim to it. He might raise his eyebrows, or telegraph with his eyelids, but a certain note in that crisp, youthful-sounding voice, would reduce him to complete subjection, in what our German cousins call an _augenblick_. No wonder that Tiberius--who looks as if he could play lion to her martyr without a single rehearsal--fawns, crawls, and wriggles like the merest puppy at the lifting of her tiny finger, when she wills--as is seldom--to be obeyed by him. All must feel the same queer power in the woman, be we dogs or men.

"Well, I'm glad you got your country back from Napoleon," said Miss Rivers. "n.o.body, except the Dutch, could have made it so cozy, so radiantly clean and comfortable. _Dear_ little Holland!"

I laughed. "Dear little Holland! Yes, that's the way you all pet and patronize our Hollow Land, and chuck it under the chin, so to speak. You think of it as a nice little toy country, to come and play with, and laugh at for its quaintness. And why shouldn't you? But it strikes us Netherlanders as funny, that point of view of yours, if we have a sense of humor--and we have, sometimes! You see, we've a good memory for our past. We know what we're built upon.

"Think of the making of Holland, though I grant you it's difficult, when you look at this peaceful landscape; but try to call up something as different as darkness is to light. Forget the river, and the houses, and the pretty branching ca.n.a.ls, and see nothing but marshes, wild and terrible, with sluggish rivers crawling through mud-banks to the sea, beaten back by fierce tides, to overflow into oozy meers and stagnant pools. Think of raging winds, never still, the howling of seas, and the driving of pitiless rains. No other views but those, and no definite forms rising out of the water save great forest trees, growing so densely that no daylight s.h.i.+nes through the black roof of branches.

Imagine the life of our forefathers, who fled here from an existence so much more dreadful that they clung to the mud-banks and fought for them, a never-ending battle with the sea. That was the beginning of the Netherlands, as it was of Venice, and the fugitives built as the Venetians built, on piles, with wattles. If you've seen Venice, you'll often be reminded of it here. And what rest have we had since those beginnings? If not fighting the sea, we had to fight Spain and England, and even now our battles aren't over. They never will be, while we keep our heads above water. Every hour of every day and night some one is fighting to save the Netherlands from the fate of Atlantis. While her men fight she's safe; but if they rested, this 'peaceful, comfortable little country' would be blotted out under the waters, as so many provinces vanished under the Zuider Zee in the thirteenth century, and others, at other times, have been swept away."

"Do you think our motor-boat could ride on the flood, and drag 'Waterspin,' if any of the most important d.y.k.es or dams happened to burst?" inquired the Chaperon. "I hope so, for what you've been saying makes one feel exactly like a female member of the Ark party."

Everybody laughed; but her joke p.r.i.c.ked me to shame of my harangue.

"Nothing will 'happen to burst,'" I a.s.sured her. "We Dutch don't lose our sleep over such 'ifs.' Every country has something to dread, hasn't it? Drought in India, earthquakes in Italy, cyclones and blizzards in America, and so on. Our menace is water; but then, it's our friend as well as foe, and we've subdued it to our daily uses, as every ca.n.a.l we pa.s.s can prove. Besides, there's something else we're able to do with it. The popular belief is that, at Amsterdam, one key is kept in the central a.r.s.enal which can instantly throw open sluices to inundate the whole country in case we should be in danger of invasion."

"But you'd drown your land and yourselves, as well as the enemy,"

exclaimed Aunt Fay.

"Better drown than lose the liberty we've paid for with so much blood.

The old spirit's in us still, I hope, though we may seem slow-going, comfort-loving fellows in everyday life. When we make up our minds to do a thing, we're prepared to suffer for the sake of carrying it through."

Again I met Miss Van Buren's eyes, and I think she realized that I am typically Dutch.

XI

Rotterdam lay far behind us now. We'd pa.s.sed the busy, crowded water-thoroughfares, as thickly lined with barges and lighters as streets with houses, and were nearing the point where the river, disguised as the Issel, turns with many curves toward Gouda. We had a few whiffs from brickfields and other ugly industries that scar the banks, but the windings of the Issel bore us swiftly to regions of gra.s.sy meadows, and waving reeds, threatening sometimes to lose us in strange no-thoroughfares of water more like separate lakes and round ponds, than the flowing reaches of a river.

Here the despised Albatross was worth his weight in gold. In charge of a skipper not familiar with every foot of the water-road, "Lorelei" and "Waterspin" would have been aground more than once. Even that irresponsible head-among-the-stars Mariner guessed at the snares we avoided, and flung me a word of appreciation.

"You're earning your salt," said he, "and you shall have a little at Gouda."

But as to Gouda, a struggle was going on between my inclination and my conscience. It was my duty as skipper to take "Lorelei" through the town that she might be ready to start from the other side after luncheon.

There would be delays at swing-bridges, and time would be lost if the party remained on board, and tried to see the place afterwards. If I trusted Hendrik to act as captain and chauffeur in one, something would go wrong, and I should be blamed. Nevertheless, I did not relish the thought of seeing Starr march off in triumph with the ladies while I remained behind to work, and lunch on a cheese sandwich. I was tempted to s.h.i.+ft responsibility upon Hendrik's shoulders to-day, and on other days to come; but as we slowed up for the sluice, or lock, something inside me would have no self-indulgence. To be sure, I am playing my part for a purpose, but while I play it, I must play well; and it was the conscientious captain who advised his pa.s.sengers to get out, told them how to find the best inn, and what they were to see when they had lunched.

"The hotel is in the Markt Platz," I said, "and you must have a good look at the old Weigh House while you're on the spot. It will be your first Weigh House, and it's really a good one, with a splendid relief by Eggers, and a delightful outside staircase. Then there's the Stadhuis, too, and if you care for old stained gla.s.s, the work of the brothers Crabeth in the Groote Kerk----"

"But aren't you going with us?" asked Miss Rivers.

I explained why I could not.

"Oh dear, and we can't speak Dutch!" she sighed. "Fancy a procession straggling through a strange town, wanting to know everything, and not able to utter a word."

"Nonsense, Phil, we can get on perfectly well," said Miss Van Buren, mutinous-eyed. "I've learned things out of the phrase-book. You can't expect a skipper to be a guide as well."

This was a stab, and I think it pleased her; but I laughed.

"I shall often be able to go with you, I hope, Miss Rivers," I said. "In many places the boat will start from the same spot where she gets in; then I shall be free and at your service."

I had to see them off without me, Miss Van Buren walking with Starr; and the only one who threw me a backward glance was Tibe. But the task I had before me was easier than I expected. There were fewer barges in waiting than on most days. Here and there a tip to a bridge-master (a gulden stuck conspicuously in my eye, like a silver monocle, just long enough to suggest a different destination) worked wonders, and in an hour I had piloted "Lorelei" through the water-streets of Gouda, ready to take her pa.s.sengers again on the Leiden side. Standing at the wheel, I had eaten a sandwich and drunk a gla.s.s of beer brought by Hendrik, so there was no need to seek food in the town. The others, having finished lunch, would have begun sight-seeing, and if I strolled to the Groote Kerk, it was just possible I might find something even more desirable than the exquisite gla.s.s.

"They'll have saved the church for the last," I said to myself. "I should like to see her face while she looks at the Haarlem window."

I could not have calculated more exactly, had we made an appointment. As I arrived within sight of the verger's door, I saw the party going in.

There was a moment's pause, and then all save one disappeared. That figure was Starr's, and he was left in charge of the dog.

"Hullo!" he exclaimed, "you're just in time."

"Yes," said I. "Clever, wasn't I?"

"I mean in time to play with this brute, while I go in. He'll be pleased with the exchange; besides, you've seen the church and I haven't."

"I've never seen it in such companions.h.i.+p."

"Callous-hearted Albatross! You'll unconsecrate the church for Miss Van Buren. Can't you see she'll have none of you?"

"I shall need the more time to make her change her mind. Every minute counts. Au revoir. Don't let Tibe escape, or I pity you with your _aunt_."

"I wish he'd jump into the nearest ca.n.a.l. Look here, Gouda's a fraud.

We've had a loathsome lunch--cold ham and pappy bread--with paper napkins, and the whole meal served on one plate, by a female even my aunt was afraid of. There isn't a cow within miles, much less a cow with a coat----"

"Perhaps one may pa.s.s while you wait. Ta, ta. Your turn will come soon."

And I left him glaring at Tibe and muttering threats of revenge against me.

All the windows of the Gouda church are beautiful, but the Haarlem window would warm the coldest heart, and I was not surprised to find Miss Van Buren already gazing at it, a lovely light streaming through the old gla.s.s upon her uplifted face. She is a girl to find out the best things at once, by instinct.

There she stood, lost in delight, and when I, a.s.suming more boldness than I felt, walked quietly across the church and stopped close behind her, she threw just enough of a look at the new-comer to see that it was a tallish man in gray.