BIRDS OF PASSAGE
MAY 1st, 1569. It is not really so very long ago since we left our dear old home at Antwerp; and yet so much has happened, and we have been often such weary wanderers, that when I try to recall the peaceful, happy days of my childhood, it all seems like a dream, and I find it hard to believe that we were not always the "birds of passage" we have been during the last six or eight months.
The last entry I made in my MS. book was an account of the fruitless visit paid by order of the Inquisition to our house in search of forbidden books. The officers were very angry, and though many friends said that Antwerp was no longer a safe home for us, and advised our leaving with all possible speed, my father was still with the Prince of Orange, and mother would not act without knowing his wishes.
Hardly a week had passed when a trusty messenger brought a letter in his well-known handwriting. He was well, and though the Prince's army was small, and he, with others, often had to endure great hardships, he was hopeful that Holland would yet be free. His fears were for us. We must leave Antwerp at once. No one was safe. The Duke of Alva with his army had already entered the Low Countries, and terrible cruelties marked their progress. He sheaved no mercy either to Romanists oil' Protestants, for the chief friends and advisers of the Duchess Margaret, the Counts Egmont and Horn, had been arrested by his orders at Brussels; and Count Egmont was, as everyone knew, a zealous Catholic. Father wished us to go to Friesland, partly because he had a little property there, and partly because it would, he thought, be easy to escape from there into Germany, where so many in the faith had already taken refuge.
Aunt Ursel decided to go with us; her brother would, she said, never forgive her if she refused to share our fortunes; besides, she loved us, and were we not one in faith, and so one in danger? Mother said at first that it would be better not to take Truyken. After so many years of faithful, loyal service to the Karlzon, family, it would not be fair or kind even to wish her to share the privations we might be called upon to meet, for we should be very poor; for though father had been one of the richest merchants of our city, the closing of the factory had meant the loss of nearly all our worldly goods, and trade was so bad everywhere in, Holland, the small income from other sources we had hoped still to call our own did not come regularly.
Truyken had saved a little money, had relations in the country, and it would, mother thought, be much better for her to spend her few remaining years in quiet and comfort.
We all felt the parting would be a very hard one, but to our great surprise, when mother first proposed it to her, she did not object, as we expected she would. She listened quietly, and went out of the room wiping her eyes, but there was a smile playing about the corners of her mouth I did not quite understand. However, with her usual good sense and promptness, she set about packing the few things we felt we must take, and they were very few, for nearly everything of value had to be left. Perhaps it was as well that the boat was to sail in three days, for we were all too busy to have any time for regrets.
All was ready, and as the boat would sail in an hour, we must go on board at once. But where was Truyken? We dreaded saying "Good-bye," but it must be done. She was nowhere to be found. What had become of her? she had prepared our last meal, and even packed some food to be eaten during the journey; but no one had seen her since she left the room laden with packages.
We dared not linger, and though I could not forget my dear old nurse, the bustle and excitement of going on board for a time put other thoughts out of my mind. When night came, we three, mother, aunt Ursel and I, wrapped ourselves up in our cloaks, and lay down upon deck, the air of the tiny cabin was so close and stifling. We did not talk much, for the day had been a sad and trying one. At last from very weariness we fell asleep. What was our surprise to be awakened by a familiar voice saying, "We land here, but you must drink some hot coffee first." The voice was Truyken's. We started up and rubbed our eyes. Were we really awake, or still dreaming? It was no dream, and in another moment I was in her arms. "Truyken, Truyken," said my mother, with a half-choked sob, "How did you come here?" "The same way that you did," replied Truyken coolly; "by the boat, only I was on board an hour before you were. Did you think Truyken was such a fair-weather friend that she would let you go out into a cold, hard world without her, and you as ignorant of its ways as three babes?" So we kissed our faithful friend and said no more. What more could we say? But ever since we have been glad, so very glad, that Truyken cast in her lot with us. Her hands never seem to grow weary of serving us, while her strong common-sense and ready wit have helped us over many an unforeseen difficulty.
We landed at a quaint little wharf, and when Truyken had collected our belongings, which she had taken care were not more than we could carry, our long, wearisome overland journey began. Everywhere the news of Alva's approach had struck terror into the peaceful inhabitants of towns and villages, and it was said that one hundred thousand houses were deserted. The gueux had broken up, and the few who remained were for the most part leading lawless, reckless lives. Some lived in the forests, and were known as the "wild gueux," others formed a small fleet of boats, and called themselves "sea beggars.”
Strange, and often sad stories were told of them and their doings, but we remember with thankfulness how, under God, we owed a very narrow escape to a party of gueux.
We were met by a band of Spanish troopers, and hope seemed to die within us, for in their eagerness to root out heresy, Alva's soldiers held no code of honor, but attacked the unarmed and helpless, while neither women nor children were spared. Flight was impossible, and they were within a few yards of us, when we heard the old cry, "Vivent les gueux," and a mounted party dashed out from the forest. A fight followed, in which several troopers were killed, and the rest fled in confusion. The gueux followed them a little way, but soon returned to us, and in the leader of the band we found an old friend. We slept that night under their guard, and in the morning continued our journey on horses belonging to the troopers, which had been captured by the gueux.
We found that for a time at least we could not reach the old house, half a mansion, half a castle (for the Karlzons were descended from a family of Flemish nobles), as the place was already occupied by Alva's troops, so gladly fell in with Truyken's proposal that we should all go to her uncle's farm on the north-eastern bank of the Zuider-Zee. "Uncle Jacob is," she said, "a good man, and a true Christian, though he is neither Catholic or Lutheran; he calls himself a Baptist. I think you Protestants are a quarrelsome family, but when trouble comes you do hang together, and that's not a bad thing in any family.”
It was night when we reached our destination. We were cold, tired and hungry, when a light in a long, low building seemed almost to promise us a welcome. Its friendly gleam seemed to give us fresh strength and courage, and we were soon there. "What can they be doing in the great barn?" said Truyken, "harvest was over quite a month ago." But we were not left to wonder long. Under cover of the darkness a few Christians had left their scattered homes, and were holding a meeting for prayer. As we stood outside, not wishing to disturb them, we heard the voice of old Jacob Anderzon lead in simple, but heartfelt thanksgiving for the mercy that had once more allowed a few poor, scattered sheep of the Savior's flock to come together. Then the barn door opened, and though the little company seemed at first startled by the sight of strangers, a few words from Truyken explained all. We were led to the house, where Jacob, and his German wife Freda, seemed to vie with each other as to which could shew the greatest kindness to their unlooked-for guests.
Rest and food were very welcome; we were all too tired that night to talk or even to think much, but as we sat at breakfast the next morning, Truyken said, "Uncle Jacob, when I saw you last, three years ago, you were a hale, strong man. You have not yet reached three-score years, how is it that you are so lame and bent like a man of eighty?" Uncle Jacob, as we all soon learned to call him, smiled a somewhat sad smile, and answered gently, "Our Lord and Savior has allowed me, in some little way, to have fellowship with Him in suffering since you were here, Truyken.”
He would have changed the subject, but Freda added, "Ask the priests, who bent and crippled his strong, straight limbs upon the rack. A great persecution arose in this part of the country against the Baptists, and Jacob was thrown into prison, and tortured on the rack because he would not betray his friends, or give the names of those with whom we had met to worship God.”
Jacob interposed, "But, dear wife, remember how much we have to be thankful for. It is very few who fall into the hands of the priests who come out until God sees fit to set the spirit free from the poor, maimed body. It always seems to me as if God must have sent His angel and delivered me out of their hands.”
After family prayers, our kind hosts proposed taking us over the farm. Freda had all the pride of a true German housewife in her poultry-yard and well-filled cheese presses, and as mother was able to pay a small sum for our board, it was settled then and there that we should remain at the farm till we could safely continue our journey.
I can never forget the happy months we spent at the farm. I enjoyed the free, country life fully, and after a few days, Freda let me help her feed the poultry, and taught me how to milk Whitestar, a remarkably gentle and good-tempered cow. Mother said, though there were no vine-clad hills, she seemed almost to be living over again the days of her own childhood, and her visits to Annetta's farm.