“No, but I must be sure she is in Haarlem before I risk the lives of my men in such desperate service. It is December, the ice will shortly be forming.” Making inquiries, Chester soon discovers the last man who has come in from Haarlem, a wild-eyed wretch, half dazed with fear, for he has just escaped several patrols of Spanish, who hang up or slaughter in some cruel way all they meet. To their questioning he answers: “Yes, I was in Haarlem—but I’ve escaped with my life—you see—with my life. I saw the smoke of Naarden burning, I heard the wail—” “But Haarlem!” cuts in Guy. “Answer my questions quick and I will give you money.” For the poor wretch is destitute and dependent upon public alms. “Do you know one Pieter Kies?” “Of course, one of the town council.” “Is he there?” “Yes.” “Is there staying with him a fair-haired girl, with bright blue eyes?” “Oh, you mean the sweetheart of the patriot painter, the one they honor in the name of Oliver of Mons.” This settles the matter. Oliver goes to screaming in his French way: “Nom de Dieu! there’ll be no mercy for her, Mina will be tortured because I love her,” then whispers hoarsely to Guy: “Save her, Englishman! If you call yourself my friend, save her.” “I’ll do everything man can.” “Then quick! Hoist anchor and get under way for the Zuyder Zee! Speed is her safety.” “For this affair I must make preparation,” answers Chester, who greatly doubts the wisdom of this move. “Preparation? Have we not arms and powder! Hurry, as I love her! HURRY!” begs Antony. Spurred by his friend’s despairing words, Chester makes quick but accurate provision for this trip. He first looks about for pilot knowing the inland waters in which he is to sail his ship, and quickly engages a harum-scarum Friesland freebooter called ’t Hoen (Anglice the Chicken). This man at once orders the Dover Lass to be lightened as much as possible. “Six inches draught of water, more or less, may mean our lives over the Zuydergat,” says ’t Hoen, who, with all his wildness, is a calculating seaman. So the Dover Lass is made flying light; provisions, water, ammunition, is all she carries. Then, though the sailors jeer, ’t Hoen calls out: “How many of you skate?” “Oho! this is a (winter) garden party with dames and wenches and lighted fires upon the ice,” jeers the boatswain. Without giving answer to this ’t Hoen goes off and buys for every man that can perform upon them a pair of long, sharp Friesland skates. Bringing these on board the ship he says, “Captain Chester, we’ll run away with these if the worst comes to the worst,” which gives Corker a glum face, he not liking the idea of deserting ship even to save his life. These preparations are made with such energy by Chester and his men that they are delayed at Delft scarce four hours.