An hour later they returned, and rolling our blankets they fastened them bandolier fashion across one shoulder and under the other. Our shoes, though admirable for wear on board ship, were useless on a rough road, so these were slung round our necks and the klompen were placed upon our feet. Our captors were of a mind to treat us kindly, but I must admit that walking in these clumsy wooden shoes occasioned us no little discomfort. Where our destination was we could not discover. Our guards would not, or could not, understand the enquiries we made in dumb-show, but when clear of the city our route lay to the north. For miles we marched between the files of our escort of pikemen, and we had ample opportunities of studying the nature of the land, which in no small measure well deserves the name of the Low Countries. The road was bordered with an avenue of trees that served to break the monotony that the broad expanse of flat country affords. There were scores of windmills all busily engaged, not in grinding wheat, but in pumping water from the drains and throwing it over the dykes. These dykes, which were cut by the Hollanders to such good purpose during their desperate resistance against the might of Spain, were massive embankments planted with sedge and reeds, and faced in places with straw so as to resist the sea better. As we progressed we saw nothing of the ocean, though it was said that the place where we were walking was well below the sea level. We passed through numerous villages, the inhabitants of which flocked out to see us, though they behaved courteously, and refrained from insulting us, a contrast to the behaviour of our own countrymen to their Dutch prisoners. After marching for over two hours we arrived at a town called Delft, where the curiosity caused by our progress was somewhat alienated by a sight that greatly astonished us. A crowd of townspeople was approaching us, and in the centre walked a portly _vrouw_, wearing a weighty vessel not unlike a butter churn, her head appearing through a hole, the rest of her being hidden inside the wooden barrel. Her miserable plight made her the butt of the crowd. But for what reason she was undergoing this punishment we could not discover, though I doubt not that she was a scold, such as we in England place in the ducking stool. We halted for an hour at Delft, the pikemen refreshing themselves by taking enormous quantities of ale, while we were fain to be content with a loaf of bread, cheese, and a pitcher of water. A woman, taking compassion on us, however, sent a little girl to us with a jug brimming with fresh milk. We talked freely, none of the soldiers apparently understanding our conversation, and discussed the possibility of making our escape. "Could we but once slip between the men, I think we should be swift-footed enough to shake them off," remarked Felgate. "What with their breastplates and headpieces their running would be like to that of Goliath of Gath."