Jacqueline of the Carrier Pigeons

JACQUELINE OF THE CARRIER PIGEONS

THE MACMILLAN COMPANY

NEW YORK - BOSTON - CHICAGO - DALLAS

ATLANTA - SAN FRANCISCO

MACMILLAN & CO., Limited

LONDON - BOMBAY - CALCUTTA

MELBOURNE

THE MACMILLAN COMPANY

OF CANADA, Limited

TORONTO

Copyright 1910

By THE MACMILLAN COMPANY

Set up and electrotyped. Published March, 1910

PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA BY

THE BERWICK & SMITH CO.

TO

MY SEVEREST CRITIC,

MY FATHER,

AND TO

VIRGINIA

WHO WAS ITS INSPIRATION,

I DEDICATE THIS BOOK

INTRODUCTION

FAIR LEYDEN

I am glad that Mrs. Seaman has written this story. Americans cannot know Leyden too well, for no city in Europe so worthily deserves the name of Alma Mater. Here, after giving the world an inspiring example of heroism, modern liberty had her chosen home. The siege, so finely pictured in this story, took place about midway in time between two great events—the march of Alva the Spaniard and his terrible army of "Black Beards" into the Netherlands, and the Union of Utrecht, by which the seven states formed the Dutch Republic.

This new nation was based on the federal compact of a written constitution, under the red and white striped flag, in which each stripe represented a state. Under that flag, which we borrowed in 1775 and still keep, though we have added stars, universal common school education of all the children, in public schools sustained by taxation, and freedom of religion for all, was the rule. Leyden won her victory seven years before the Dutch Declaration of Independence in July, 1581. As our own Benjamin Franklin declared, "In love of liberty and bravery in the defense of it, she (the Dutch Republic) has been our great example."

With freedom won, as so graphically portrayed in this story, Leyden enlarged her bounds and welcomed to residence and citizenship three companies of people who became pioneers of our American life. Like the carrier-pigeons, they brought something with them. To our nation, they gave some of the noblest principles of the seven Dutch United States to help in making those thirteen of July 4, 1776, and the constitutional commonwealth of 1787, formed by "the people of the United States of America."

First of all, to victorious Leyden, came the Walloons, or refugees from Belgium, to gather strength before sailing in the good ship New Netherland, in 1623, to lay the foundations of the Empire State. Then followed the Pilgrim Fathers of New England. Many of the young and strong who sailed in the Speedwell and Mayflower were born in Leyden and spoke and wrote Dutch. The old folks, who could not cross the Atlantic, remained in Leyden until they died and some were buried in St. Pancras and St. Peter's Church. In this city, also, dwelt the Huguenots, in large numbers, many of whom came to America to add their gifts and graces to enrich our nation. Last, but not least, besides educating in her university hundreds of colonial Americans, including two sons of John Adams, one of whom, John Quincy Adams became president of the United States, Leyden in 1782, led in the movement to recognize us as an independent country. Then the Dutch lent us four millions of dollars, which paid off our starving Continentals. Principal and interest, repaid in 1808, amounting to fourteen millions, were used to develop six thousand square miles of Western New York, when New Amsterdam (later called Buffalo) was laid out, and whence came two of our presidents, Fillmore and Cleveland.

A most delightful romance is this of Mrs. Seaman. True to facts and exact in coloring, it is all the better for being the straightforward narrative of a real boy and a genuine girl. Gysbert Cornellisen's cooking pot, once smoking with savory Spanish stew or hodge-podge, is still to be seen in the Stedelyk (city) Museum, which every American ought to visit when in Leyden. It is in the old Laken Hal (or cloth Hall). From the turreted battlements of Hengist Hill (Den Burg) we may still look out over the country. If in Leyden on October 3, one will see Thanksgiving Day celebrated, as I know it was, most gaily, in 1909, in a most delightfully Dutch way, when the brides of the year are in evidence. In Belfry Lane, where Jacqueline lived, was the later home of the Pilgrim Fathers. On the wall of great Saint Peter's church is a bronze tablet in honor of the pastor of the Mayflower company, and inside is the tomb of Jean Luzac, "friend of Washington, Jefferson and Adams." His newspaper, printed in Dutch and French, during our Revolutionary War, won for us the recognition of three governments in Europe. On the Rapenburg, where he lived, a bronze tablet in his honor was unveiled, to the singing of "The Star Spangled Banner" on September 8, 1909.

Having spent weeks in Leyden, during a dozen visits, I can testify to the general historic accuracy, as well as to the throbbing human interest of this story of Jacqueline of the Carrier Pigeons. It will be sure to attract many a young traveller to Leyden.

William Elliot Griffis.
Ithaca, N. Y., January 8, 1910.

CONTENTS

ILLUSTRATIONS

FROM DECORATIVE DRAWINGS

BY GEORGE WHARTON EDWARDS

[ON HENGIST HILL]

CHAPTER I

ON HENGIST HILL

The hush of a golden May afternoon lay on the peaceful, watery streets of Leyden. Just enough breeze circulated to rustle the leaves of the poplars, limes and willows that arched the shaded canals. The city drowsed in its afternoon siesta, and few were about to notice the boy and girl making their way rapidly toward the middle of the town. Directly before them, the canal-interlaced streets and stone bridges gave place to a steep incline of ground rising to a considerable height. Its sides were clothed with groves of fruit trees, and from its summit frowned the mouldering walls of some long-forsaken fortress. So old and deserted was this tower that a great clump of oak trees had grown up inside of it, and overtopped its walls.

"Art thou tired, Gysbert?" asked the girl, a slim, golden-haired lass of seventeen, of her younger brother, a boy of little over fourteen years.

"No, Jacqueline, I am strong! A burden of this sort does not weary me!" answered the boy, and he stoutly took a fresh grip on some large, box-like object wrapped in a dark shawl, that they carried between them.

Up the steep sides of the hill they toiled, now lost to sight in the grove of fruit trees, now emerging again near the grim walls of the old battlement. Panting for breath yet laughing gaily, they placed the burden on the ground, and sat down beside it to rest and look about them. Before their eyes lay pictured the sparkling canal-streets of the city, beyond whose limits stretched the fair, fertile plains of Holland, and in the dim distance the blue line of the boundless ocean. Gysbert's eyes grew misty with longing.

"Ah! if I had but brush and colors I would paint this," he sighed. "I would paint it so that all the world would think they looked upon the very scene itself!"

"Some day thou shalt have them, Gysbert, if thou dost but possess thyself with patience," answered his sister, with the gentle yet authoritative air of her three years' senority. "We will raise many pigeons and train them. Then, when the price we have obtained from them is sufficient, thou shalt buy an artist's outfit, and paint to thy heart's content. Meantime thou must practice with thy charcoal and pencil, and wait till the war is over."

Both sat silent for a while, each occupied with thoughts that were, in all probability, very similar. The little word "war" recalled to them memories, pictures, speculations and fears, all very painful and puzzling. Neither one could remember the time when their peace-loving land of the Netherlands had been allowed to pursue its avocations unmolested by the terrible Spanish soldiery. From time immemorial had these fair provinces been tightly grasped in the clutch of Spain. Now at last they were awakening, rousing themselves from the long inaction, and striking the first bold blows for liberty from the relentless oppressor. Little did the children dream, as they sat looking out over the beautiful city, that this same year of 1574, and this same Leyden were to witness the great turning-point of the struggle.

"Look, look, Jacqueline! There is the church of Saint Pancras, and there is our house in Belfry Lane. I can almost see Vrouw Voorhaas looking from the window! Come, let us set free the pigeons!" And Gysbert, all excitement, began to fumble with the wrappings of the bundle. Jacqueline rose, threw back the two golden braids that had fallen across her shoulders, and knelt down to superintend the work.

Very carefully they removed the dark shawl and laid it aside, disclosing a box roughly fashioned like a cage, containing four pigeons. The frightened birds fluttered about wildly for a moment, then settled down cooing softly. When they had become accustomed to the daylight, Jacqueline opened one side of the box, thrust in her arm, and drew toward her a young pigeon of magnificent coloring, whose iridescent neck glittered as if hung with jewels. The girl cuddled the bird gently under her chin, and with one finger stroked his handsome head.

"Let us send 'William of Orange,' first," she said. "He is the finest, strongest and wisest, and will lead the way. I am glad we named him after our great leader."

"But the message!" Gysbert reminded her. "We must not forget that, or good Vrouw Voorhaas will never know whether he got back first or not. She cannot seem to remember one pigeon from another. Here, I will write it." He drew from his pocket a tiny scrap of paper on which he hastily scrawled:—"'William of Orange' brings greetings to Vrouw Voorhaas from Jacqueline and Gysbert." This he wrapped about the leg of the bird and tied it with a string. "Now, let him go!" he cried.

Jacqueline stood up, lifted the bird in both hands, and with a swift upward movement, launched him into the air. The pigeon circled round and round for a moment, then mounted up into the sky with a curious spiral flight. When it was many feet above the children it suddenly changed its tactics, spread its wings taut, and made straight in the direction of Saint Pancras spire and Belfry Lane.

"Bravo! bravo!" they cried, watching intently till its sun-gilded wings had all but faded from sight. "'William of Orange' is a true carrier pigeon! Now for the rest!"

One after another they released the three remaining birds to whom they had given the names 'Count Louis' and 'Count John' after the great William of Nassau's two favorite brothers, and lastly 'Admiral Boisot.' It seemed to be a fancy of the children to call their pets after their famous generals and naval commanders.

"These are the finest pigeons we have raised," remarked Jacqueline as she shaded her eyes to watch their flight. "None of the others can compare with them, though all are good."

"Now we have twenty," added Gysbert, "and all have proved that they have the very best training. No pigeons in the city are like ours, not even old Jan Van Buskirk's. When shall we begin to hire them out as messengers, Jacqueline?"

"Perhaps there will be an opportunity soon," answered the girl. "Now that our city is no longer besieged we may have to bide our time. But no one can tell what will happen next in these days. We must wait, Gysbert."

"Come, come! let us be going," said her brother restlessly, "and see if they all get back safely, and whether 'William of Orange' was first."

"No, let us stay awhile," replied Jacqueline. "It is pleasant and cool up here, and the afternoon is long. Vrouw Voorhaas will let the birds in, and tell us all about when they arrived. We may as well enjoy the day."

She reseated herself and gazed off toward the blue line of the ocean, shut out from the land by a series of dykes whose erection represented years of almost incredible labor. The river Rhine making its way sluggishly to the sea,—a very different Rhine from that of its earlier course through Germany,—was almost choked off by the huge sand dunes through which it forced its discouraged path. The girl's thoughtful mood was infectious, and Gysbert, after rambling about idly for a time, came and settled himself at her side.

"'Tis a strange hill, this, is it not, Jacqueline, to be rising right in the middle of a city like Leyden? Why, there is nothing like it for miles upon miles in this flat country! How came it here, I wonder?"

"Father used to tell me," said the girl, "that some think it was the work of the Romans when they occupied the land many centuries ago, while more declare that it was raised by the Anglo-Saxon conqueror Hengist. That is why it is called 'Hengist Hill.'"

"How different it would have been for us if father had lived!" exclaimed Gysbert, suddenly changing the subject. "It seems so long ago, and I was so young that I do not remember much about him. Tell me what thou knowest, Jacqueline. Thou art older and must remember him better."

"Yes, I was eleven," said Jacqueline with a dreamy look in her eyes, "and thou wast only eight, when he went away and we never saw him again. We had always lived in the city of Louvain, and father was a professor of medicine in the big university there. Mother died when thou wast but a little baby. I can just remember her as tall and pale and golden-haired, and very gentle. Good Vrouw Voorhaas always kept house for us, and we had a big house then,—a grand house,—and many servants.

"Father was so loving and so kind! He used to take me on his knee and tell me many tales of Holland and the former days. I liked best those about the beautiful Countess Jacqueline of Bavaria, after whom he said I was named, and of how good and beloved she was, and how much she suffered for her people.

"Then came the day when he disappeared—no one knew how or where for a while—till the news reached Vrouw Voorhaas that he had been captured by the cruel Duke of Alva and put to death. It was at the same time that the young Count de Buren, the eldest son of our great William of Orange, was kidnapped from the University where he was studying, and taken a captive to Spain. We had little time to think of that outrage, so great was our grief for our dear father. Vrouw Voorhaas dismissed all the servants, closed the house and sold it, and we came to Leyden to live in the little house in Belfry Lane, where we have been ever since."

The boy listened spellbound, though the recital was evidently one that had been oft-repeated, but had never lost its mystery and sorrowful charm.

"I was so little," he said at last, "I only remember our father as a tall man with gray hair and beard, and very blue, twinkling eyes. It is all like a dream to me! But is it not singular, Jacqueline, that Vrouw Voorhaas will never talk about him to us, nor answer any questions when we ask about him? And she has told us never to mention his name to others, and has made us change our last name from Cornellisen to Coovenden. I wonder why!"

"It is very strange," agreed Jacqueline, shaking her head, "and I do not understand it myself. She told me once that I should know some day, and till then must never question her." But the restless spirit had again seized Gysbert, and he scrambled to his feet to make another tour around the old fortress. Suddenly the girl was startled by his loud, insistent shout:

"Jacqueline, Jacqueline! come here! There is something very odd coming across the plains! Come quickly!" She rose and ran to the other side of the hill where she found Gysbert shading his eyes with one hand. With the other he pointed to a thin, dark, undulating line moving slowly in the direction of the city, while here and there the sun caught a flash of blue and white, as from waving banners. Jacqueline's cheeks grew white.

"The Spaniards!" she breathed.

"The Spaniards indeed!" shouted Gysbert. "And coming to besiege the city once more, when we thought they had left us for good and all. In five hours at most, they will be here in front of the walls. We must run to warn the Burgomaster Van der Werf to strengthen the defences and make all speed to close the gates. There is not a moment to lose! Come!"

And without another thought but for the safety of the beautiful city, the two children clasped hands and ran at top speed down the steep hillside, in the direction of the great statehouse.

[THE KING'S PARDON]

CHAPTER II

THIS KING'S PARDON

A week had passed, and Leyden lay encircled by the Spanish army in a state of close siege. Eight thousand troops under the Spanish commander Valdez surrounded the city, sixty-two redoubts had been raised to bombard its walls, and moreover, the number of the enemy was daily increasing.

But within the town were only a small corps of burgher guards, and "freebooters" under the command of brave John Van der Does. Three sources alone supplied the reliance of the beleaguered city,—their trust in God, the stout hearts and willing hands of the inhabitants, and the sleepless energy of Prince William of Orange, their heroic national commander.

Jacqueline stood in the dove-cote one morning about eight days after the trip to Hengist Hill, feeding her little troop of carrier pigeons. Her golden hair fell over her shoulders in two shining braids, her eyes sparkled, and her cheeks glowed with the pleasure of her occupation. Upon her shoulders, her hands, and even her head perched the feathered pets, so tame that they fairly disputed among themselves for the privilege of her attention. The dove-cote was a room on the top floor of the little house in Belfry Lane. The sun streamed in brightly through the large open window, the walls were lined with boxes serving as nests, and every detail of the room was, through the untiring efforts of Jacqueline, as neat and immaculate as a new pin.

Suddenly the door opened and Gysbert, hatless and panting, stood on the threshold.

"Ah, Jacqueline!" he exclaimed, with true artist's instinct. "What a beautiful picture thou dost make, standing there in the sunlight with the pigeons all around thee! Had I but time I would bring my pencil, and sketch thee just as thou art. But hurry, hurry! The Burgomaster Van der Werf is going to make a speech and read two proclamations from the steps of the statehouse. Every one will be there. Come, we must get near the front!"

"Yes, yes!" echoed Jacqueline, as eager as the boy. "Close thou the door tightly, Gysbert, and we will hurry, that we may not miss a word. Ah, I hope that the good William the Silent has sent the city a message!"

Out into the street they sallied, mingling with the crowd that was surging toward the open square in front of the great statehouse. The bells of Saint Pancras sounded the signal for a public meeting, and one could read from each earnest, excited countenance, the importance that was placed on being present in this crisis.

"Look!" cried Gysbert. "There is Jan Van Buskirk not far ahead. I thought he was too ill with lumbago to leave his bed! See how he hobbles along! Let us join him, Jacqueline." They ran ahead and caught up with the old man, who greeted them cheerily, in spite of the pains with which his poor bent body was racked.

"Yes, I managed to crawl out of my bed," he assured them. "'Tis important that every one should attend these meetings in such a pass as we are now. Think you we will hear word from William the Silent?"

"Aye, but I hope so, though I do not yet know certainly," answered the boy. "We have received no word from him since the siege began. Surely he will not desert us in this hour of need!"

"See, Gysbert!" whispered Jacqueline. "There is that evil-looking Dirk Willumhoog across the street. Do not let us get near him. His very appearance makes me shudder!" The girl shrank closer to her brother and old Jan.

"Surely thou art not afraid of him, Jacqueline!" said Gysbert scornfully. "'Tis true I detest him myself, but I fear him not. What harm can he do us?"

"I do not know," replied his sister, "but there is that in his look that makes me think he would harm us if he could!"

"Poof!" exclaimed Gysbert. "Did I not tell thee that he stopped me in the street one day, and asked me who we were, and where we lived, and who took care of us? I reminded him that it was naught of his affairs, as far as I could see, and left him to scowl his ugly scowl as I walked away whistling."

But the crowd had swept Dirk Willumhoog from their sight, and in a few moments they found themselves in the great square surging with people, and as fortune would have it, almost directly in front of the imposing statehouse, from whose high, carved steps the proclamations were to be read. They were not a moment too soon, and had but just pushed their way to the front, near a convenient wall against which Jan might lean, when Adrian Van der Werf, the dignified and honored Burgomaster of the city, appeared on the stone steps high above the crowd. The Universal babel of tongues immediately ceased, and the hush that followed was broken only by the occasional booming of the Spanish guns battering at the walls of the city. Then the Burgomaster began to speak:

"Men and women of Leyden, I am here to read to you two proclamations,—one from our beloved William the Silent, Prince of Orange-Nassau,—" here he was interrupted by loud and prolonged cheers from the multitude, "—and one from His Majesty, King Philip the Second of Spain." The absolute and scornful silence with which the people received the last name was but a fitting indication of their hatred.

"I shall read the message from the Prince of Orange first." And while the people listened in eager, respectful silence, he repeated to them how their Prince and leader, whose headquarters were now at Delft and Rotterdam, sympathized with them sincerely in their fresh trouble, and how he deplored the fact that they had not followed his suggestion to lay in large stocks of provisions and fortify their city while there had been time in the months before the siege. The Prince reminded them that they were now about to contend, not for themselves alone, but for all future generations of their beloved land. The eyes of the world were upon them. They would reap eternal glory, if they exhibited a courage worthy of the cause of their liberty and religion. He implored them to hold out for three months, in which time he would surely devise means for their deliverance.

He warned them to take no heed of fair promises from the Spaniards if they would surrender the city, reminding them of how these same soldiers had behaved at the sieges of Naarden and Haarlem, when, in spite of their declaration to let the citizens go out in peace, they had rushed in and murdered every one as soon as the gates were opened. Finally, he begged them to take a strict account of all the provisions in the city, and be most saving and economical with food, lest it should fail them before the siege was raised. When the message was ended the crowds cheered themselves hoarse, and when the burgomaster inquired what word they desired him to send the Prince, they shouted as with one voice:

"Tell him that while there is a living man left in the city we will contend for our liberty and our religion!"

"And now," continued Adrian Van der Werf, "hear the proclamation of the King of Spain. He invites all his erring and repentant subjects in the Netherlands, and especially Leyden, to return to his service and he will extend to them full forgiveness for all their crimes. He declares that if any will lay down their arms, surrender themselves, and become his loyal subjects once more, that they shall receive his pardon, and all shall be forgotten. He has authorized General Valdez to say that if the city will surrender at once, that the citizens shall be shown every mercy." No sooner had the burgomaster ceased to speak, than old Jan Van Buskirk raised his voice:

"It is a trap! Believe not in it!"

"Yes, yes! It is a trap!" stormed the multitude. "We will have none of it! We will die to the last man, before we will surrender!"

"What right has that wretch of a Spanish King to offer us pardon!" growled Gysbert to his sister and Jan. "He forgive us, indeed! And it is he that has been doing all the wrong and committing all the crimes. Many thanks to him, truly!"

"But what message is it your pleasure that I shall send in answer to this?" asked the burgomaster.

"Tell him," roared Jan, who seemed to have constituted himself spokesman for the people, "that the fowler plays sweet notes on his pipe, while he spreads his net for the birds!"

"Aye, aye!" assented the crowd approvingly. "Tell him that!" "'Tis a good answer," commented Van der Werf, "and I will send it as it stands. Now who will take advantage of this pardon for himself? Let any who may feel so inclined come forward at once, and they shall be sent out of the gates to go their chosen ways in peace."

Another tense silence ensued. Each person stood his own ground stanchly, and watched for any sign of wavering in his neighbor. Presently from out the crowd there pushed a stout old man who finally gained the open space before the burgomaster.

"I am a brewer of Utrecht," he announced. "I do not live in this city and have no desire to maintain the siege. I wish to take advantage of the King's pardon!"

"Be it as you wish, neighbor," answered Van der Werf. "Here are the necessary papers. You shall pass out unmolested, at the opening of the gate." The man received the papers, while the crowd looked on, muttering in contemptuous undertones.

"And I," declared another who had shoved his way to the front, "will also receive the pardon, if you please." Jacqueline grasped her brother's arm convulsively.

"Dirk Willumhoog!" he whistled softly. "The city will be well rid of him, to be sure, but what a coward!"

When the two men had been furnished with the proper credentials, the burgomaster commanded them to proceed at once to the principal city gate, where they would be dismissed to the Spanish army outside. But as they made their way down the wide Breede Straat, the fury of the crowd broke loose.

"Shame! Shame!" hissed the following throng. "Shame on the cowards who desert their countrymen to join the despicable ranks of Spain! Thrice shame on their accursed heads!" Straight to the walls of the city the multitude pursued the fleeing men, now actually trembling for their lives. The two children and old Jan, caught in the swirling throngs, found themselves almost on the heels of the fugitives. Jan grunted and spluttered his disapproval, but Gysbert seemed fairly boiling over in his wrath, especially against Dirk Willumhoog.

The gate having been reached, it was opened but the smallest crack available by the guarding soldiers. The brewer from Utrecht squeezed his bulky form with difficulty through the narrow aperture, followed by the howls of the crowd. But Gysbert could contain himself no longer. Breaking away from his sister's grasp, he rushed up to the remaining fugitive and shouted in his face:

"Shame on thee, Dirk Willumhoog, for a dog of a coward! Shame! shame!" The man turned on him with so savage a countenance that Jacqueline could not repress a frightened scream. The cry attracted the man's attention to her also.

"You shall rue this, you two!" he vociferated. "You shall rue this day forever,—and for more reasons than you now think! You shall rue it!" And the closing gate shut his wicked features and his impotent rage from their sight.

[GYSBERT BECOMES A JUMPER]

CHAPTER III

GYSBERT BECOMES A JUMPER

"Turn thy face a little more to the light, Jacqueline. I want to get a full profile."

In the little living-room of the house in Belfry Lane, sat the two children, on an evening a month after the events of the last chapter. On one side of the table Vrouw Voorhaas bent over a huge pile of mending, casting an occasional loving and solicitous glance at her two charges, but otherwise quiet, silent and reserved. She was a woman of large, almost masculine proportions, and her muscular frame knew not the meaning of fatigue. Her features were plain and unprepossessing to a degree, but nevertheless grave and intelligent. She was rarely known to smile, and her manner was as that of one weighted down with a great responsibility. Gysbert frequently told his sister that Vrouw Voorhaas acted as though she had some dark secret on her mind, and Jacqueline was forced to admit the truth of the remark. Her devotion to the children was beyond question, yet she seldom exhibited any outward expression of affection.

Jacqueline bent over a musty-looking old book, turning its pages thoughtfully, and drawing her pretty brows together with a puzzled expression at frequent intervals. Gysbert sat on the opposite side of the table with pencil and paper before him, making a sketch of his sister's head as she leaned over her book.

"What is it thou art reading so intently?" he demanded at length.

"'Tis an old volume that belonged to father's library,—the only book that was not sold before we left Louvain," answered Jacqueline. Neither she nor Gysbert noticed the startled glance with which Vrouw Voorhaas raised her head at these words. Jacqueline continued:

"It seems to be all about medicine. Thou knowest how that subject interests me, Gysbert. I long, when I grow up to practice the healing art. I feel in some way as if the gift were in me."

"Poof!" said the boy. "Women are not fashioned to be physicians,—they have other duties! Thou art mad, Jacqueline! Such business is not for thee!"

"Ah! I know it is not considered a woman's business, and few if any have tried it. Yet there is the famous Queen Marguerite of Navarre. They say she is the wisest woman in France, for all she is so young, and knows not only Latin, Greek and other languages, but much about medicine and the healing art also! I have been reading in this old book, but I can make little out of it, for there is much Latin in it, of which I understand nothing. But it is my great hope that some day I shall study all about it, even though I never become a physician."

While they were talking, Vrouw Voorhaas gathered up her work and without a word, left the room. No sooner had she gone than Gysbert leaned across the table, and spoke to his sister in a voice scarcely above a whisper:

"Jacqueline, now that Vrouw Voorhaas is out of the way, I want to tell thee several things, some of which I learned to-day. One thing I have fully made up my mind to do,—I am going to become a 'jumper'!"

"A 'jumper,' Gysbert! And what may that be?"

"Why, I might as well begin at the beginning and explain it all," he answered. "Thou knowest the siege has lasted now for over a month, and things are beginning to look black for us. There is no more bread in the city, and but very little of the malt-cakes on which we are all now living. Precious glad I am that we were fortunate enough to lay in an extra stock of seeds for our pigeons, or we should soon be reduced to feeding on them!

"Well, I was in the square before the statehouse this morning, and through listening to and taking part in some of the gossip there, I learned a few things. In the first place, our good William the Silent cannot possibly raise a sufficient army to encounter the besieging troops of the Spaniards, that's plain. Relief must come in some other way, but how, God alone knows! However, our wonderful Prince is wise and resourceful. Let us not despair, but trust him to save us, and do our best to help.

"Jacqueline, I am going to do my part! To-morrow I go to Burgomaster Van der Werf, to offer myself as a 'jumper.' Let me tell thee what that means. The Prince wants a few swift, skillful messengers who will go out of the gates secretly, in some kind of disguise, and make their way through the Spanish forces to him. Now I am young, I know, but I am big and strong, and I know my way around the walls and outside the city as well and perhaps better than anyone in Leyden. And I want to do something! I can't sit around idle while all are helping in one way or another. Why dost thou look so white and frightened, Jacqueline?"

"Ah, Gysbert! thou must not do this! Thou wilt surely be captured and killed. Ah! I cannot allow it, nor will Vrouw Voorhaas!"

"Vrouw Voorhaas must not know of it,—at least at first. And thou must not interfere with me, dear sister. I know that our father, were he alive, would approve of my decision. Did he not always tell us to be courageous, and would he not wish us to serve our city in this great distress?" This argument silenced Jacqueline's remonstrances.

"Do what thou wilt, Gysbert, since thou thinkest that our father would approve, only be not rash, and have a care for thy life. What would I do if thou wert taken from me, brother?"

"I will be most cautious, sister, never fear for that!"

"But how shall we keep it from Vrouw Voorhaas? She would lock thee in a room and never let thee out, did she but dream of thy decision!"

"Thou mayst tell her that I am out helping with the defence of the city, if I fail to come back for too long a period. That will be the strict truth, yet not enough to alarm her seriously," answered Gysbert.

"How absurdly worried and careful she has been about us, since the day we told her of the King's Pardon and Dirk Willumhoog! She turned deathly white at the mention of his name, and I thought she was going to faint when we told her what he said before he left the gate. Dost thou remember, Gysbert?"

"Aye, but let me tell thee something else, Jacqueline. What dost thou think of this? I saw Dirk Willumhoog in the city this morning!"

"Gysbert! thou art surely joking! That cannot be possible. Since he was expelled from the city, how could he get back?"

"Ask me not how he got back, for I do not know. But the best of it is that he did not see me, and he was so disguised that had it not been for certain circumstances, I should never have known him. I had strolled up Hengist Hill after leaving the Breede Straat, and had climbed into a tree to get a better view of the Spanish army outside the walls. I was sitting in the branches very quietly, when a man in a long cloak and big slouching hat came out of the grove and sat down right under my tree. Thinking himself alone, he took off his hat, threw aside his cloak, and then to my great surprise, pulled off the thick beard that covered his face!

"'Ah, but it is hot!' I heard him mutter. Then he stood up and stretched his arms, and I all but lost my hold and fell out of the tree when I recognized who it was! He sat down again and rested for half an hour, and I thought he would never go. Fortunately he did not once think of looking up or he would have certainly seen me. At last he donned his beard, hat and cloak, and sneaked off never dreaming who had watched his every movement! I would give a good round florin to know what he is after!"

"Ah, I am sure it is some harm to us, he is plotting!" shuddered Jacqueline. "Dost thou recall his look of hate on that dreadful day, Gysbert? He has some reason for wishing us evil."

"That may or may not be," answered Gysbert. "At any rate, I think he can do us but little harm. However, thou shouldst be careful about going abroad in the city alone, Jacqueline. Thou art not as strong as I."

"I go nowhere except to purchase our small allowance of food—thou knowst Vrouw Voorhaas never goes out at all now—and to visit poor Jan Van Buskirk once a day, and take him some soothing medicine. He says that nothing helps him like the decoction of my herbs, and nothing charms away his pain like the touch of my hands. Dost thou know, Gysbert, that he has been obliged to kill and eat most of his pigeons since food has been so short? I know not what he will do when they are gone!"

"We will share our food with him, Jacqueline. He has always been so kind to us, and taught us how to raise and train our pigeons. But now, let us to rest! It is late, and I must see Burgomaster Van der Werf early to-morrow."

Poor Jacqueline's sleep that night was restless and tormented by frightful dreams in which Gysbert's new and dangerous vocation, and the evil face of Dirk Willumhoog bore no inconspicuous part. Gysbert, on the contrary, slept sweetly and undisturbed as a year old baby, and rose next morning betimes to seek what fortune he should meet in this new enterprise.

Adrian Van der Werf sat alone in his great office in the statehouse. His fine face was clouded with an expression of intense gloom, and he shook his head gravely as he looked out over the besieged city. Was this fair spot to fall a prey to Spanish vengeance, as its sister cities had fallen? He saw no hope in present prospects, for a better fate. Presently an official opened the door and saluted him:

"A small boy outside wishes to speak with your Worship."

"Admit him," answered the burgomaster. "I am not engaged at present." Glancing up as Gysbert entered, his face lighted with a smile of recognition.

"Ah! thou art the boy who warned us of the approach of the Spaniards! Thou art a brave and thoughtful lad. What can I do for thee?"

"Your Worship, I have a request to make," answered Gysbert promptly. "I wish to serve my city by becoming a 'jumper?'"

"A jumper—thou! But thou art scarce fourteen years of age, if I judge rightly. It would be wicked to expose one so young to such dangers!" exclaimed the astonished burgomaster.

"Aye, your Worship, you have guessed my age correctly. But I am strong and agile, and know the walls and outlying districts well. Moreover, I have a plan that I trust will take me safely through the Spanish lines."

"And what may be that plan!" demanded Van der Werf, more and more amazed.

"This," answered the boy. "I shall stain my skin and hair darker with walnut juice, that I may not be recognized. And pretending to be somewhat half-witted, I shall go out among the Spanish troops peddling healing herbs. My sister raises many such in her little garden and has taught me much of their use. In this way I can most likely get through the lines, unsuspected and unmolested, and deliver any message to your faithful ones who are beyond."

"It is a clever scheme!" admitted the wondering burgomaster. "And if thou dost act thy part well, thou wilt be fairly safe."

"Likewise," added Gysbert, "I have some carrier pigeons that have been exceedingly well-trained, and perchance could make them of use also."

"The very thing!" exclaimed Van der Werf. "Our stock of carrier pigeons waxes very low, having either died of starvation, or been eaten. I have been wondering where I should find well-fed, well-trained birds to fill their place. Canst thou take a couple at a time with thee? I must needs send some to William the Silent at Delft, else we will get no more messages from him."

"Aye, I can bind two and take them at the bottom of my bag of herbs," answered Gysbert. "I will wager for it that they shall be delivered safely." Adrian Van der Werf spent a moment in silent consideration.

"Thou art a brave and clever youth," he said. "But thou must know that thou art risking much in this hazardous enterprise. However, God will watch over those who serve Him. Come to me to-morrow bringing two carrier pigeons, and I will instruct thee as to the message." And Gysbert, highly pleased, departed for Belfry Lane, whistling lustily one of the popular songs of the day:

"Beat the drums gaily,
"Bub-dub a dub-dee!
"Beat the drums gaily,
"And the Spaniards will flee!"

[IN THE CAMP OF THE ENEMY]

CHAPTER IV

IN THE CAMP OF THE ENEMY

In the cold gray mist of earliest dawn, Gysbert crept silently through one of the city gates. So changed was his appearance that his own sister would scarcely have known him, had she not assisted in effecting his disguise, late the night before. His straight light hair had assumed a dark brown color, and his fresh rosy complexion had suddenly become as swarthy as any Spaniard's. His Dutch blouse, cap and wooden sabots were exchanged for garments of a more foreign cut, and in his hand he bore a large bag of assorted herbs, both green and dried.

Thanks to an almost daily study of the Spanish camp from his perch on Hengist Hill, he had selected the most favorable quarter for his egress through the enemies' ranks—the situation farthest removed from the headquarters of commander Valdez.

The camp had very much the appearance of a little city of mushroom growth—rows upon rows of tents, and here and there a hut of larger proportions hastily constructed of boards. In the middle of one tented street had been erected a rude shrine protected by an awning, at which knelt a priest celebrating the early morning mass. The tinkle of the silver bell calling to service was the only sound that broke the silence. Gysbert proceeded cautiously, rejoicing at every step that took him unmolested on his way, when suddenly a rough command arrested his progress:

"Halt! The password! What art thou doing here?"

"Requesens!" answered Gysbert glibly, thanking his stars that the burgomaster had not failed to inform him of the Spanish password for the day. Van der Werf had two or three trusted spies in the Spanish army, who kept him well posted as to their daily plans and watchwords.

"Requesens! is correct enough," replied the sentinel, "but who art thou, and where art thou going so early?"

"I am a Glipper," answered Gysbert in a sing-song nasal voice. "I come from the city. We are starving there. I sell these healing herbs in order to get some food." Now a Glipper was the name given to any Hollander who sympathized with Spain, and they were as a rule very favorably regarded by the Spaniards. Gysbert, being naturally truthful, disliked exceedingly to thus falsify himself, but consoled his conscience with the motto—'All's fair in war.' The sentinel looked him over suspiciously, but concluded that he had not the appearance of a genuine, out-and-out Dutch boy. Moreover, it was evident from his speech and expression that he was not blessed with more than half the usual quantity of wits.

"Well, little fool, I will let thee pass, provided thou wilt supply me with something healing for this wound in my hand where the gunpowder from my musket burned me, yesterday morn." Gysbert hunted in his bag, brought out a small bundle of dried leaves, and recited as if by rote:

"Thou shalt steep these in boiling water. Thou shalt make a poultice with the leaves thus steeped. Thou shalt bind it on thy wound. In two days thou shalt be better."

"Thanks, little numbskull! Thy poultice and not thy wits have saved thee! And now, cut away quickly!" Availing himself not too hastily of the permission, Gysbert strolled away as if there were not a thought of danger in his mind. But no sooner was he out of sight of the sentinel than he took to his heels and ran swiftly and silently through the still sleeping camp.

"If only I can reach the outskirts before they waken, all will be well!" he thought. Once again only, at the edge of the encampment, he was challenged by another sentry. But the password given, he was allowed to go on without question, by a sentinel whose one sleepy thought was the bed into which he hoped soon to turn. Once on the high-road to Delft, Gysbert's troubles were for the time over, and he abandoned himself to a leisurely walk, and to the enjoyment of his breakfast, a stale malt-cake which he munched contentedly as he trudged along.

Then the sun rose, the morning mist evaporated, and the waters of the canal sparkled like jewels in the clear air of the July day. A lazy boat with one big brown sail edged its way slowly along the canal in the direction of Delft.

"I might as well save my strength," argued Gysbert to himself, "and what is more, I have time in quantities to spare. Hi!—Herr Captain, I pray you take me on your gallant bark!" The captain looked up from a sail he was mending, and scanned the boy from head to foot.

"I like thee not," he answered. "Thou hast too much of the Spaniard about thee, little frog! Thine own two good feet can carry thee!" Gysbert was secretly delighted that his disguise was so effective, but hastened to add:

"Good Herr Captain, you are much mistaken. Look you!" And from the bottom of his bag he pulled out two pigeons bound and helpless.

"These be carriers!" he announced. "I am commissioned by Burgomaster Van der Werf to take them to our Prince at Delft. Also I have a message, but that is in my mind." Instantly the captain's surly manner changed.

"Come aboard! Come thou aboard!" he called heartily. "Thou art a small lad but a clever one. Here, catch this plank!" In two minutes Gysbert, comfortably ensconced in the stern, had curled himself up to finish the morning nap, with which his early expedition had seriously interfered. In due time this easy-going vessel reached the Gate St. Catherine, the principal entrance to Delft, and Gysbert disembarking, thanked the good-natured captain for his assistance.

"No thanks to me, youngster," replied the man. "It's all for the good cause, and my name is Joris Fruytiers, shouldst thou ever meet me and need my help again."

Gysbert set off with all speed to the Prinsenhof, the palace where William the Silent held his headquarters. One of the boy's greatest desires in life was to see and speak with this great Father of his country, the Prince of Orange, who had been for several years his hero and idol. Hence his errand was all the more delightful to him since it was to afford him this coveted opportunity.

But this time he was doomed to disappointment. The Prince was away at Rotterdam, and his commissioner, Paul Buys, took the message in his stead. It was to the effect that the people of Leyden implored immediate help. They were on the point of facing starvation, and feared lest the weaker ones would lose courage and yield up the city. Paul Buys sent word back to Van der Werf that the Prince of Orange was on the point of putting into execution a scheme of release that he had long been considering, and would send word by one of the carrier pigeons when he was ready to put it into effect.

Buys then told Gysbert that hereafter he would not have to come as far as Delft with the pigeons, but could leave them at the farmhouse of Julius Van Shaick, not far beyond Leyden, from whence they would be conveyed to Delft in safety. Before the boy left for his homeward journey, Buys superintended him in the disposal of such a meal as he had not seen for many a long day, and he sighed only that he could not convey some of it to Jacqueline and Vrouw Voorhaas.

Trusting to no slow-moving canal vessel, but relying mainly on the swiftness of his strong young legs, he accomplished the fifteen miles back to Leyden in four hours, and at nightfall reached once more the outskirts of the Spanish camp. But his passage through the enemy's midst was not destined to be as uneventful as that of the morning.

The camp streets were bustling with life and activity. Soldiers promenaded up and down, women—the few who had chosen to follow their husbands' fortunes—called to each other shrilly from the tent-doors, and even some children ran hither and thither in garments of startling untidiness. Gysbert hoped to escape notice in the general confusion, but in this he was mistaken. A sudden hand was laid in no gentle manner on his shoulder, and a voice from behind demanded:

"The password!"

"Requesens!" he replied confidently.

"In that thou art much in error!" answered the soldier. "Dost thou think that the password does not change from day to day? Thou art twelve hours too late. Come thou with me!" and he led Gysbert to the door of a tent which was empty and lighted only by a large fire outside.

"Here, Alonzo de Rova!" he called to a burly sentinel. "Guard this young interloper till I have time to report him to Commander Valdez."

"Now," thought Gysbert, "I am caught in earnest! But without seeming to possess any wits, I will try to use those the good God has given me as skillfully as I can." Alonzo de Rova paced up and down before the tent door for a time, apparently utterly ignoring the boy, yet in reality watching him keenly.

Gysbert on his part kept his eyes well open, yet assumed the vacant gaze he had attempted in the morning. Presently he took up a charred stick from the fire that happened to lie near him, and with it commenced to make some strokes on the white canvas of the tent.

"What art thou doing?" demanded De Rova, and he drew near curiously to examine the marks.

"Why, by the Pope!" he exclaimed. "It is myself—my very self as I stand here with my musket! Thou canst indeed draw, little stranger! Who art thou?"

"I am a Glipper," repeated Gysbert monotonously. "I sell healing herbs. I also can draw."

"Art thou indeed a Glipper? Well, that is not so bad! And look thou here! Canst draw a good portrait of me on fine paper?"

"Aye, I can!" answered Gysbert in his adopted nasal tone.

"Well, thou hast evidently not all the wits that God usually gives us, but thou shalt try," said De Rova, and he drew from his belongings a sheet of paper, and what stood for a pencil in those days.

Gysbert draws the Portrait of Alonzo de Rova

"Draw me well, little Glipper! Make of me a fine figure, for I wish to send it to my sweetheart in Madrid, and we will see what can be done for thee!" Drawing himself up to his full height he assumed a martial position, ready for the likeness. He was truly a splendid specimen of a soldier, and evidently very proud of his magnificent proportions. Gysbert seized the pencil and paper, and went to work with a will. Never had he striven so hard to give satisfaction, never had so much been at stake, never had his art stood him in such good stead. When the picture was finished Alonzo de Rova was profuse in expressing his wonder and delight, and slipped a coin into the boy's hand.

"And now, little artist, fly! Slip away under the back of the tent, when I am not looking and no one will be the wiser. The captain who caught thee is a good friend of mine, and beside I will tell him thou art a Glipper. Remember Alonzo de Rova, and if thou dost ever come to the camp again I will put thee in the way of earning a pretty penny, for there are many like me who would gladly sit for their portraits. I doubt not but that thou couldst make a florin a day at that work. One more word of advice—the password for to-night is Phillip. Farewell!" With that he turned his back on the boy and commenced pacing up and down before the fire.

Gysbert lost not a moment's time, but acting on the friendly soldier's suggestion slipped out through a loose flap at the back of the tent. Thanks to the now dense darkness and his knowledge of the password, he escaped safely through the camp to the Cow Gate, where giving a peculiar knock previously concerted between himself and the gatekeeper, he once more stood secure within the city walls. Speeding homeward to Belfry Lane he murmured to himself:

"I have accomplished the mission without mishap, and have also made two friends. On the whole, I think I have not done so badly!"

[THE DECISION OF JACQUELINE]

CHAPTER V

THE DECISION OF JACQUELINE

On the morning of Gysbert's first venture into the midst of the enemy, Jacqueline rose with a very heavy heart. She helped her brother with the last preparations for his departure, aided him in escaping the vigilant eye of Vrouw Voorhaas who was already at work though the hour was so early, and bade him a tearful farewell as he sped down the silent street. But her mind was full of foreboding, and she felt as though she could never live through the time till he should return in safety. To pass the weary hours and otherwise occupy her thoughts, she assisted Vrouw Voorhaas with the daily routine of housework, cleaned the pigeon-house, and fed her eighteen remaining pets with a scanty supply of their rapidly diminishing stock of corn.

Vrouw Voorhaas had many questions to ask concerning the whereabouts of Gysbert whom she had not seen that day. Jacqueline parried these as best she could, explaining that he had gone off early to execute some errands for Burgomaster Van der Werf. Her companion, unconvinced that all was as it should be, and vaguely uneasy about her youngest charge, accepted the explanation somewhat distrustfully. To change the subject Jacqueline began to talk about their supply of food and to make plans for husbanding it to the last crumb. While she was talking her gaze suddenly riveted itself on the tall form of the older woman.

"Why Vrouw Voorhaas," she exclaimed, "how thin thou art growing! See, thy dress dost hang about thee in great folds, and thine arms almost show the bones! Surely we have not yet come to the pass when such loss of flesh would be noticeable! What hast thou been doing?"

"Nothing, nothing, child!" exclaimed the woman hastily. "I eat as heartily as our supply of food will permit, but the hot weather always did reduce my flesh. Hurry away now, and see what thou canst purchase at the market, but try not to be seen too prominently. Young people are not too safe in the streets in these wild times. Art going to visit old Jan to-day?"

"Yes," answered Jacqueline. "He grows worse and worse, though I do my best to aid him. There seems to be something else ailing him beside just his lumbago, but I cannot quite make out what it is, and he will not see a physician. I will go out and gather some fresh herbs now to take with me."

The girl took her little basket and went out to her patch of garden at the back of the house. Gay flowers bloomed in one half of it, but the other was devoted to the cultivation of the medicinal herbs whose healing properties she had carefully studied in the old book belonging to her father. First she gathered a sweet-smelling bouquet of late roses and jasmine to cheer the eyes of old Jan, and then stooping among the herbs selected those most calculated to help his poor infirm body. When this was done she re-entered the house, added some malt-cakes and a bottle of Vrouw Voorhaas's cooling homemade wine, and proceeded on her errand of comfort.

Jan Van Buskirk's home was on a tiny street just off the Marendorfstrasse, and to reach it Jacqueline was obliged to take a rather circuitous route that led through the poorest section of the city. What she saw there on that day tore her gentle heart with an agony of sympathy. The weather was extremely hot and oppressive, and every one seemed to have sought the coolness of the shaded street in preference to the little suffocating rooms. Pale, emaciated children thronged the doorways, many gnawing on dry unsightly bones from which the last vestige of meat had long since disappeared. Sick babies wailed fretfully, white, haggard men and women strove in vain to comfort them. And here and there lay stretched on an improvised cot the form of some person desperately ill, moaning piteously. Jacqueline contrasted the scene with these same comfortable, happy people of a few months before and her heart grew rebellious at the mighty suffering entailed in just the little word "war." "Is there no help,—no help for it?" she asked herself.

Jan Van Buskirk was worse, unquestionably worse than when she had visited him before, and his condition alarmed her seriously. He was tossing from side to side, rolling his head feverishly, and muttering incoherent words; nor did he seem in the least to recognize his little friend. Jacqueline quietly determined that it was high time he had more expert medical advice than she could offer, and went out hastily to seek the nearest physician. Dr. Pieter de Witt was hard to find for his duties were long and arduous in these dreadful days, but finally she discovered him in the house of a poor family all sick but the mother who could hardly drag herself around. Hearing Jacqueline's errand he made haste to accompany her. One glance at the unconscious Jan told him the tale.

"My girl," he said, turning to Jacqueline, "go away from here as speedily as thou canst. This man has the plague. It has broken out in several parts of the city, owing to bad food or none at all, and this man has caught it. Thou art exposing thyself to a terrible disease and almost certain death. This is no place for thee. Go home, and I will take care of the man to the best of my ability, but I doubt if he will live, even so."

Jacqueline's eyes opened wide with a startled look, and she glanced uncertainly at Jan. The sick man stirred restlessly, then with a sudden cry muttered her name in his feverish sleep. At that word the girl formed her decision.

"I will not go, Dr. de Witt. This man has been a friend to me and mine ever since I can remember. I do not fear the plague, and even if I did it would not keep me from giving all the aid I could to Jan Van Buskirk. Moreover, I know a little about medicine myself, having read it in an old book in my possession. I have raised healing herbs, and I also possess one which has the power, they say, to protect from such diseases if carried about the person. I will always have it by me, for I wish to help you in nursing this my friend back to life and health." Dr. de Witt looked her over for a moment in silent astonishment. Then he spoke:

"Thou art a brave maiden, whoever thou art, and I would that there were many more like thee! Help me thou shalt if such is thy determination, and the good God will bless thee and protect thee from all harm. There is much in having absolutely no fear of this contagion, and I see thou hast none. With thy help we may perhaps save our old friend and neighbor." Together they labored over the old man, and before he left, the doctor expressed his amazed approval of the skill and knowledge exhibited by this fair slip of a girl in tending and administering to the sick. Beyond this too, something in her manner, her look and her speech indefinably recalled to him old recollections.

"Thou dost constantly put me in mind of some one," he remarked finally. "Hadst thou ever any relation who was a physician? What is thy father?"

"I have no father," answered the girl with the reticence she had learned to exhibit through Vrouw Voorhaas's teaching. "He is long since dead."

"But what is thy last name?" persisted the good doctor.

"Coovenden," replied Jacqueline with the hesitancy she could never quite overcome in pronouncing this assumed title.

"Coovenden? Ah, it is not a name that I recognize—and yet there is something,—I know not what, which stirs me!" And he went away shaking his head thoughtfully. On her way home Jacqueline stopped at the public market to purchase what scarce supply of provisions she was able to obtain.

"But this is a miserable little cabbage!" she expostulated mildly to the huckster who served her. "And see! this mutton-bone has scarce any meat upon it. 'Twill be watery soup that is made from this mess!"

"And lucky thou art to have any soup at all!" answered the market-woman. "I tell thee, girl, the time is coming when we shall be glad to eat the grass that grows in the streets, and that's not far distant, either. I, for one would gladly see the gates opened to the Spaniards. They are better at least than slow starvation!" Jacqueline shrank away from her at these words so like disloyalty to the great cause, and hurried home with the news she had to tell.

As the day wore on, Vrouw Voorhaas became more and more uneasy about Gysbert, and questioned his sister so closely about his absence that she had hard work quieting the woman's fears and at the same time hiding the truth about him. She herself was beset by more definite terrors for his safety than Vrouw Voorhaas could even guess, and though she did not expect Gysbert before nightfall, counted the moments with ever-increasing agitation.

Then darkness came and the two partook of their frugal supper, laying aside a generous portion for the boy. One by one the stars twinkled out. Jacqueline, sitting by the window tried to count them to distract her thoughts. Her mind reverted again and again to the scenes of the morning, and the pictures of the suffering she had witnessed would not fade from her consciousness. As she sat leaning her head against the casement, she was suddenly startled by having two hands clapped over her eyes, and a voice whispering in her ear:

"Guess who it is!"

"Gysbert!" she exclaimed. "How didst thou get in?"

"Hush! I slipped in through the garden and climbed to my window up the rose-trellis. I did not want Vrouw Voorhaas to see my disguise, and have washed it all off and changed my clothes. Where is she?"

"In her room," answered his sister, "and right anxious about thee, I can warrant! But tell me all about it, Gysbert!"

In hasty sentences the boy told her of his day's adventures. She listened with breathless interest, and shuddered not a few times at the narrowness of his escapes. Then she recounted to him her own experiences, and told of Jan Van Buskirk's illness and danger. When she had finished they sat together in the darkness for a long time without speaking. Finally Jacqueline took her brother's hand in hers and said:

"Gysbert, thine own bravery and the dark scenes I have witnessed to-day have set me thinking, and to-night I have made my resolve. Since thou hast given thyself to the dangerous task of assisting our beloved city, I, too, can do no less than devote myself to the relief of some of its suffering. To-morrow I shall seek Dr. de Witt and ask him to allow me to accompany him in his visits to the sick and starving. I can aid in nursing them, at least, since God has given me that power."

Gysbert returned his sister's clasp, but continued in silence for some moments. Truth to tell, he was struggling with a lump that had risen in his throat, and was glad that the darkness hid the tears that had gathered under his lashes. The experience of the last few days and weeks had helped to give him a poise beyond his years, but his admiration for his sister's quiet courage almost deprived him of words with which to express it. Presently, however, he got up and put his arms around her neck.

"Jacqueline," he said, trying to master the huskiness in his voice, "thou art very brave. I would rather go ten times into the heart of the Spanish army, than once into a room with the plague. But thou art right. It is thy destined work since thou hast chosen it, and our father, were he here, would surely say, 'Well done!'"

[THE COMING OF THE FIRST PIGEON]

CHAPTER VI

THE COMING OF THE FIRST PIGEON

The middle of August found the conditions in Leyden in no way improved but rather the worse, being just so many weeks nearer starvation. The poor had reached a point where they were indeed glad to get what nourishment they might from the grass that grew in the streets, and even the leaves from the trees that shaded the canals. Even the rich now suffered from the scantiness of provisions, and were fain to draw in their belts tightly to lessen the gnawing of constant hunger.

Jacqueline and Gysbert had lost their fresh, rosy complexions and the roundness of their youthful curves, and looked white and thin. Yet they still fared better than some. Gysbert had made seven trips through the Spanish lines, each time bearing away two carrier pigeons, and bringing back when he could, a little supply of fresh food in his bag. The six remaining birds they had decided to kill and eat, one a week, so that they might have at least a taste of fresh untainted meat occasionally. It had cost Jacqueline many a pang to thus sacrifice her pets, but she could not see her dear ones suffer when it was in her power to give them food.

Gysbert's latest excursion outside the city walls had been successful, and without any of the excitement that had attended his first trip. He had chosen an entirely different quarter through which to pass, had met with either a friendly reception or indifference from those he met, and who freely purchased his herbs. He was taken without question for a Glipper, as he had announced himself to be, and his presence soon became a familiar figure in their midst. Then too, these expeditions were of much shorter duration than his first, since instead of travelling all the way to Delft, he had only to leave his message and the pigeons at the farmhouse of Julius Van Schaick, a short distance from the city. He had thus far managed also to escape the vigilance of Vrouw Voorhaas, who now accepted without question the explanation of his executing errands for the burgomaster.

And what of Jacqueline? Plague now raged through all the poorer sections of the city,—a dread disease brought on by improper nourishment or none at all. Dr. de Witt and Jacqueline went their daily rounds, cheering, comforting, and administering medicine and nourishment on every side. Never was a presence more welcome in a sick room than that of the slim, fair girl whom many in their delirium took to be an angel. Never was a touch more deft, light and soothing than hers.

By her tender care, Jan Van Buskirk had been nursed through the awful scourge. He was still as weak as a baby, yet able to crawl about his room listlessly, and inquire after the progress of the siege. His admiration for, and devotion to the girl who had brought him safely through his peril was beyond all expression, and he did little else when she was near, than follow her with his eyes in an ecstasy of dumb admiration.

Vrouw Voorhaas utterly disapproved of Jacqueline's mission to the sick, and spared no pains to make her disapproval known. She was constantly in terror lest the girl herself should become infected, and scolded, muttered and sighed whenever Jacqueline prepared to go out. But the young girl's determination was too firm to be shaken by the older woman's expostulations, and her interest and devotion to the work had grown with her increasing responsibility. Dr. de Witt secretly marvelled at her quiet firmness, skill, and unflinching courage. More and more did he rack his brains to elucidate the mystery of her strange resemblance to someone he had once known or seen, but without result.

"Jacqueline, come up to Hengist Hill with me," said Gysbert one hot, oppressive day about the twentieth of August. "Thou dost look white and tired, and needest a little change of air, and besides I want to talk to thee."

"Ah, Gysbert, the day is too hot, and I am very tired! Let us rest here in the house instead," replied the girl wearily.

"Nay, the air is fresh and cool on the hill, and I have yet another reason for the expedition. Come with me and thou wilt not regret it." Yielding to his wish, Jacqueline accompanied him through the blazing, sun-baked streets, striving for once not to see the misery that now lay open to the daylight all about them. But Gysbert was right,—the Hill was a decided improvement on the heated atmosphere of the town. The grove was cool and pleasant and a refreshing breeze swept the summit. They sat down in the shadow of the old fortress, and drew in great breaths of the life-giving salt air.

"Ah, it is good to be here!" exclaimed Gysbert. "Art thou not glad we came, Jacqueline? And now let me ask a question. Answer truly! What hast thou had to eat to-day?"

"Oh, I had plenty!" answered the girl evasively. "The weather is so hot that I cannot eat much."

"Now, look thou here!" he replied. "For breakfast this morning we had some watery gruel of our pigeon grain, and a thin slice of malt-cake apiece. I saw thee eat the gruel, but the cake disappeared quickly in some mysterious way. Jacqueline, didst thou save it to take to Jan?"

"Well, yes, I suppose so," she faltered, cornered so cleverly that she could not deny it.

"Very well!" replied Gysbert with decision. "Then I will tell him the next time I go there, that thou art starving thyself to feed him!"

"No, no, Gysbert!" she cried in genuine alarm, "thou must not do that! It would grieve him unto death, for I have told him that we have plenty."

"Ah! does that worry thee? Then if thou wilt do something to please me, I promise not to tell him."

"Yes, yes," said Jacqueline eagerly. "Anything, Gysbert, will I do if thou wilt only keep that secret!" The boy did not answer, but running to the wall of the fortress, lifted a good-sized stone and took from the hollow underneath something which he brought to his sister. It was the legs and body of a wild rabbit which had been prepared and cooked evidently before an open fire.

"Why, Gysbert!" exclaimed Jacqueline in astonishment. "Where didst thou get this?"