When we were back at the hotel I sat a long time by the window looking at what was going on in the street, where the tram-cars, the carriages and heavy carts intermingled unceasingly. Muzzled dogs drew large waggonettes led by buxom peasant-women in stiffly starched gowns, who were faithful to their ancient costume and wore red bodices, brown skirts and a strange form of head-gear with heavy gold ornaments over flowing white caps. I was very much interested with the life and traffic in the port, on to a corner of which our windows looked. Large cargo-boats, exporting fruit and vegetables to England, were moored in the port, and numerous barges toiled steadily by, on their way to market, loaded to the water edge. A big American steamer was leaving for New York on the next day, carrying two thousand emigrants. We spent our evening in a music-hall. The performance was very bad indeed. First came a French “chanteuse” in a short skirt and still shorter bodice, who rattled away indecent songs, then came the so-called tenor, who cooed a sentimental romance both out of tune and time, then a “basso profundo,” who bellowed Mephistopheles’ Serenade, made his appearance. The whole performance was accompanied by dead silence. The Dutch, in general, are a reserved people. All the faces are grave. I never saw a Dutchman smile. We were obliged to return on foot to the hotel and would have given anything for a carriage, but none was to be had and all the trams were overcrowded. So we walked, trying to find our way, which was not an easy thing to do, stopping at every corner to read the name of the street under a lamp-post. On the following morning we embarked for London on a Dutch steamer named _Fjenoord_. The lower deck was closely packed with calves and sheep for sale. As soon as we were out in the open sea, we began to feel a slight rocking. It was too windy to remain on deck, and in our cabin the air was so close and stifling! We asked the stewardess to wake us before entering the Thames. I was up before six, dressed quickly and mounted on deck. It had been raining in the night and the wet wool of the sheep smelt very badly, whilst passing the English lighthouse, the syren on our ship whistled loudly, calling out the pilot, who came alongside on a small skiff; a rope-ladder was dropped, and the pilot clambered on board. At half-past six we landed at Blackwall. After having passed through the customs on a floating raft, we then took the train to London. We regretted that we couldn’t enter London by the docks, but it was Sunday, and the boats going that way had a holiday. CHAPTER XXXIX LONDON