but we had certainly achieved a little sleep when we resumed our places in the vehicle.
Well, here was Holland, and surely no Dutchman would contend that his country is picturesque. Turner himself could not have made a pleasing landscape, with only ditches, meadows, willow trees and windmills for materials. The cattle and the milkwomen would help him a little, but the straight lines of Dutchland are dreadful.
The road from Breda to Rotterdam is like a story without a purpose, beginning anywhere and ending nowhere. There is no resting-place for the eye or the mind. There is neither up-hill nor down-hill to change the monotonous tune of the wheels upon the road, which is fringed with Dutch poplars and willows and paved with Dutch tiles. Any one mile might be a sample of the whole number, and none but the freeholder would probably be able to suggest any distinctions. There was an episode, however, in this dull journey. We came to an arm of the sea, and alighted for the lumbering diligence to be put into a barge-like boat, with the passengers congregated about it, and the horses in another. But we were soon on the road again, jogging along over the never-ending marsh.
The afternoon was well advanced before we stopped at a ferry-house opposite Rotterdam. Landing upon one of the many quays of this flat-bottomed city, we found that we possessed something like half-a-crown in money, and presented an appearance not likely to procure for us a high valuation from the thrifty Dutchmen. It was not prudent, perhaps, under these circumstances to go to the best hotel in the place, but this was the course we adopted, and few who have visited Rotterdam can fail to have observed the very pretentious edifice to which we gave our doubtful patronage. Upon gaining the dignified elevation of its coffee-room we held a council, in which it was resolved that Tom and Geoffrey should at once proceed to the Hague, and endeavour to draw funds from Tregan’s friend at the Palace, while Fred and I lived a life of expectation in Rotterdam.
After they had started, we resolved to make the best of it, and joined in the table d’hôte with faith and satisfaction. Apples, cheese, and cigars formed the concluding courses, and we had hardly done our duty by the last of these good things when we were surprised by the appearance of my brother and Tom at the door, and much dismayed at their rueful countenances.
“We couldn’t find him,” Tom whispered in my ear.
“Well, you’re doing it brown, you fellows,” said my brother, looking to the yet remaining remnants of our dinner.
“Wasn’t he at the Palace?” said Fred, with ill-concealed anxiety.
“No,” rejoined Tom; “but we’ve got scent of him. He is staying with a Dr. Reehault, some seven miles the other side of this precious Dutch town.”
Matters were becoming serious. We examined the railway bills, and found that we had just enough money left to take one man by third-class to the station nearest to which Dr. Reehault lived, and to enable him to return to Rotterdam. Tom knew he must go, but he naturally grumbled at his lot. To begin with, the object of his mission was not in itself the most agreeable, although he knew that his friend—who was acquainted with all our belongings—would be pleased with the opportunity of rendering assistance. But he had not been written to, as we hoped that our funds would have enabled us to reach home from Rotterdam. Tom could not speak a word of any language but his mother tongue, and was as ignorant of the road as he was of the navigation of the Maas.
We resolved that if possible funds should be raised to give him a companion, and gravely proceeded to cast lots which of the party should offer his watch at the shrine of a Dutch Mont de Piété. Fred laughed as he unhooked his silver hunter, and declared that he had a right to be excused from making the bargain. This my brother undertook, and after breakfast he set out in search of guilders. Meanwhile, Tom must go, or he would not be able to get back at night; so we three walked to the station, having previously made Geoffrey aware of the time at which the train started. Just as we were about to expend the whole of our joint fortune upon the ticket, we discovered Geoffrey running up the road leading to the station, and waving his hat in a most reassuring manner. He had obtained the magnificent sum of twelve guilders, and left the watch in the honoured name of “John Russell.” Giving me and Fred one to amuse ourselves with, he and Tom took the train.
We soon spent our money in coffee and billiards, and again joined the élite of commercial Rotterdam at the table d’hôte, haunted with an uncomfortable consciousness that our bill was growing to alarming dimensions. Soon after in came our companions, bringing Tom’s friend along with them.
But Tom had spoken lightly of the situation, and his friend had no immediate means of getting more money than that he carried with him, and, moreover, he was unknown at the hotel, and particularly anxious that his name and position should not be endangered by roving and impecunious countrymen. However he had something like forty guilders, and this we felt sure would much more than pay our bill; so, as he kindly volunteered to go at once to a less expensive inn, where he was well known, and make arrangements for our reception, it was agreed that my brother and I should follow after we had packed the bags and settled our bill.
We were rather startled on receiving the bill to find that it amounted to ten guilders more than we possessed. We rang the bell, and told the landlord our exact position and circumstances. The conference, however, ended in his declaring that one of us must stay, and in a waiter mounting guard, to see that the hostage was properly secured. My brother lit a cigar, and remained a prisoner, while I set off, assuring him that I would neither eat nor drink until I had redeemed him from his unpleasant situation.
I knew that our friends had gone to an inn on the Spanish Quay, and inquiring my way thither
