Jacqueline of the Carrier Pigeons | Page 2

be sure to
attract many a young traveller to Leyden.
WILLIAM ELLIOT GRIFFIS.
ÊÊÊ Ithaca, N. Y., January 8, 1910.

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," he 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