ception of that which
leads to the old Gevangenpoort with its little painted towers. I
must confess that I did not like Bergen-op-Zoom. It seemed to me
curiously inhospitable and critical; which was of course a wrong
attitude to take up towards a countryman of Grimston and Redhead; Who
are Grimston and Redhead? I seem to hear the reader asking. Grimston
and Redhead were two members of the English garrison when the Prince
of Parma besieged Bergen-op-Zoom in 1588, and it was their cunning
which saved the town. Falling intentionally into the Prince's hands
they affected to inform him of the vulnerability of the defences,
and outlined a scheme by which his capture of a decisive position
was practically certain. Having been entrusted with the conduct of
the attack, they led his men, by preconcerted design, into an ambush,
with the result that the siege was raised.

All being fair in love and war one should, I suppose, be at the feet
of these brave fellows; but I have no enthusiasm for that kind of
thing. At the same time there is no doubt that the Dutch ought to,
and therefore I am the more distressed by Bergen-op-Zoom's rudeness
to our foreign garb.

Bergen had seen battle before the siege, for when it was held by the
Spanish, at the beginning of the war, a naval engagement was held off
it in the Scheldt, between the Spanish fleet and the Beggars of the
Sea, whom we are about to meet. The victory was to the Beggars. Later,
in 1747, Bergen was besieged again, this time by the French and much
more fiercely than by the Spaniards.

From Bergen-op-Zoom we went to Tholen, passing the whitest of windmills
on the way. Tholen is an odd little ancient town gained by a tramway
and a ferry. Head-dresses here, as at Bois le Duc, are very much
over-decorated with false flowers; but in a little shop in one of the
narrow and deserted streets we found some very pretty lace. We found,
also on the edge of the town, a very merry windmill; and we had lunch
at an inn window which commanded the harnessing of the many market
carts, into every one of which climbed a stolid farmer and a wife
brimming with gossip.

In the returning steam-tram from Tholen to Bergen-op-Zoom was a
Dutch maiden. So typical was she that she might have been a composite
portrait of all Dutch girls of eighteen--smooth fair features, a very
clear complexion, prim clothes. A friend getting in too, she talked;
or rather he talked, and she listened, and agreed or dissented