With this Guy goes away. But Ripperda, the commandant, is busy and cannot be seen; so Chester, going to the Swan, there meets Haring, and finds the inn as clean as it was before; in fact, too clean, for there is nothing to dirty it with—nothing to eat save a porridge made of grass taken from the streets. Therefore the two, having taken the precaution of bringing their provisions with them in a bag, fall to upon their own. But the smell of strong salt red herrings is so great that the children congregate about the door, and the widow Hasselaer, who has just come in from active duty, and is putting aside her breast-plate and head piece, cries out savagely: “Dolts! what are you doing? Luxuries are for the wounded!” With this she sweeps the Spanish wine, spirits, bread, herrings, and every morsel they have, away from them to carry out to the Kerk hospital, though her lips water at the sight of such unknown delicacies, and the children follow her, sobbing for “a little herring—just a taste, just a smell!” But Kenau Hasselaer is made of sterner stuff and the wounded get even the herring smell. Guy and Haring look glumly at each other. “To-morrow morning,” says the Englishman, “we’ll report ourselves and get rationed. It’s half a pound of mouldy bread, I believe, made of rye husks and ground oats.” “Voor den duivel!” growls the Dutchman. “We must get out of here while we have strength. If that infernal woman had only left us the spirits!” Then the two go gloomily to bed and fall into the deep sleep of tremendous fatigue, having toiled with their boat all the night before. From this they are awakened by the awful din of arms, the clang of all the bells in the Groote Kerk and the lesser churches mingling with the clash and boom of bombard and culverin and saker. Besides this Vrouw Hasselaer’s sturdy hand is upon them, shaking them out of their slumbers. “Wake up, sluggards!” she cries, “and fight for your lives! Up! I’ll show you the way.” Knowing that if the Spaniards take the town they will certainly butcher them, Guy and his companion hastily seize their arms and run with the widow through dark streets that are now full of men turning out to fight for their desolate homes. Arriving at the wall just east of the Kruys gate, which has been made into a block house, the two, used as they are to scenes of battle, find themselves in such a fight as they have never seen before. For they are in the woman’s department. “Hel en duivel! There’s not a man here. We two can’t hold this long work,” cries Haring. “You can’t?” exclaims Kenau Hasselaer, “but we’ll do it for you. Women of Haarlem, show these Springalds how to fight!” This they do with all the might, potency and viciousness of the advanced womanhood of the Sixteenth Century, almost shaming Haring, who is a hero, and Chester, who is as sturdy a Captain as ever England sent forth, by deeds of prowess done by Kenau Hasselaer and her sister Amazons that night.