“IN BELGIUM’S CAPITAL.”

“Gand!” shouted the guard, as he walked along the step before the doors of the compartments, just as the train entered the station.

“I suppose that means Ghent,” said Paul.

“Yes; Gand is the French name of the place,” replied Dr. Winstock.  “There are many cities in Europe which you would not recognize by their foreign appellations.”

As the train stopped the whistle of the Young America’s boatswain called the students together, and Mr. Lowington told them they could stay only two hours in the place.

“Ghent is situated at the junction of the River Lys with the Scheldt,” said Professor Mapps, who, to the astonishment of the boys, seemed to be plumed for a lecture.  “The numerous branches of these rivers, either natural or artificial, form canals which extend in all directions through the city.  The town may be said to be composed of twenty-six islands, which are connected together by no less than eighty bridges.  The grand canal extends from the lower Scheldt to the town, by means of which ships drawing eighteen feet can come up to the basin.  All these canals are navigable for boats or vessels.  It is surrounded by a wall seven or eight miles in extent, for its defence.  On the grand canal, half way between the city and the West Scheldt, there are sluices, by which the whole country could be laid under water in case of invasion by an enemy.

“Ghent has been called the Manchester of Belgium, on account of its being so largely engaged in cotton manufactures.  Its factories are operated by steam power.  The population in 1863 was one hundred and twenty-two thousand.  The cultivation of flowers is largely carried on here, there being about four hundred hot-houses in the immediate vicinity of the city.

“Ghent is a very old city, and occupies a prominent place in history.  In the days of Charles the Bold it was the capital of Flanders.  Charles V., Emperor of Germany, was born here.  It was formerly a city of vast importance, and at one time its wealth and power had increased to such an extent, that it was regarded as the rival of Paris. ’Je mettrais Paris dans mon Gand,’ Charles V. used to say, as he proudly contemplated this great city.  What does it mean?”

“I could put Paris into my glove,” replied one of the French scholars near the professor.  “But gant is the French word for glove.”

“Near enough for a pun, and much nearer than modern punsters often get it,” continued Mr. Mapps.  “Ghent, in former days, had the reputation of being a turbulent city, and its people were bold and warlike.  They have always been forward in asserting and defending their liberties; and you will find that the burghers of Ghent figure largely in Mr. Motley’s Histories.  I will not detain you longer now, but, as we pass through the city, I shall have something more to say about its historic character.”

A sufficient number of vehicles had been gathered during the professor’s lecture to enable the students to make the most of their limited time in Ghent.  They went first to the Beffroi, or Belfry-tower.  It is a kind of watch-tower, two hundred and eighty feet high, built in the twelfth century.  The structure is square, and is surmounted by a gilt dragon.  It contains a chime of bells, and a huge bell weighing five tons.  The records of the city were formerly kept in the lower part of the building, which is now degraded into a prison.  The entrance to the tower is through a shop, and the view from the top is very fine.

The Cathedral of St. Bavon, the Church of St. Michael, and the Hotel de Ville, or Town Hall, were pointed out, and the carriages stopped in the Marche au Vendredi, a large square, or market-place, which takes its name from the day on which the sale is held.  The phrase means Friday Market.  Mr. Mapps explained the use of the square, and pointed out the ancient buildings with Flemish gables, which look like a flight of stairs on each slope, which surrounds it.

“This was the grand meeting-place of the citizens of Ghent,” he continued; “the counts of Flanders were inaugurated here with great ceremony and splendor.  Here the trades-unions, or societies of weavers, used to meet.  Here the standard of rebellion was planted, and the people rallied around it to overthrow their oppressors.  Here Jacques van Artevelde, the Brewer of Ghent, encountered a hostile association, and fought one of the most furious combats known in history.  He was called the Brewer of Ghent, because, though of noble family, he joined the society of brewers to flatter the vanity of the lower classes.  His partisans were chiefly weavers, and his opponents the fullers.  In the midst of the strife the host-the consecrated bread and wine of the Catholic mass-was brought into the square, in order to separate the furious artisans; but it was disregarded, and the bodies of fifteen hundred citizens were left on this spot.

“Van Artevelde, whose statue you see before you,” added the professor, pointing to the object, “was a person of great influence.  He was the ally of Edward III. of England, and had raised himself to the position of Ruwaert, or Protector of Flanders, by banishing its hereditary counts.  By his advice, the King of England had added the fleur de lis, or lilies of France, to the British arms, claiming to be King of France.  He courted the aid of the Flemish people, who were very powerful,-for it was said that Ghent alone could furnish eighty thousand fighting men,-in order to establish his claim to rule France.

“Edward obtained the assistance of the Flemings; but he did not conquer France, though he gained some splendid victories, in which the famous Black Prince figured.  Van Artevelde began to dread the vengeance of the hereditary counts of Flanders, whose power he had usurped, and in 1344 he invited Edward to meet him at Sluis.  Here the Brewer proposed to make Edward’s son-the Black Prince-sovereign of Flanders, in order to secure the protection of England.  He relied upon his influence with the citizens to induce them to submit to this arrangement; but the stout burghers rejected the proposal with contempt and indignation.

“During Van Arteveldt’s absence, a popular insurrection was fomented against him; and, on his return, as he rode through the streets, he was made conscious of the storm that was brewing against the Brewer.  He went to his house, and barricaded the doors; but the street was soon filled by the mob.  He addressed them from a window; but they would not hear him, and he attempted to escape by a back door into an adjoining church.  Failing to accomplish this purpose, the infuriated people broke in upon him, and he was killed.

“In this square, also, were kindled the fires of the Inquisition by the Duke of Alva, at the command of Philip II., and thousands perished in the barbarous persecution.

“The rebellious spirit of the people of Ghent was very trying to Charles V. He demanded of them an enormous sum of money, to enable him to carry on a war against France.  The burghers put the town in a state of defence, and privately offered their allegiance to Francis I. of France.  He declined the offer, and maliciously informed Charles of it, who marched an army through France to punish the treason of his subjects in Ghent.  Commanding this army in person, he reached the gates of the city, and surrounded its walls, before the people were aware of his presence.

“The utmost consternation prevailed in the town, and messengers were sent to the emperor to sue for forgiveness.  Without granting any terms to the rebels, he imperiously demanded that the gates should be opened.  His command was obeyed, and the Spanish army marched into the town.  The Duke of Alva suggested that the entire city should be destroyed; but Charles satisfied himself with beheading fourteen of the ringleaders of the rebellion, and confiscating their property.  The principal officers of the city were ordered to appear before the emperor barefoot and bare-headed, clothed in black gowns, and with halters around their necks.  They were compelled to sue for pardon on their knees.  As an additional penalty, the magistrates were forbidden to appear in public without a halter on their necks, as a badge of their ignominy.  The rope was worn; but, in the lapse of time, it became a silken cord, tied in a true-lover’s knot, and was regarded as an ornament which the magistrate could not dispense with.

“In 1570, when the people attempted to shake off the Spanish rule, the citadel or fortress at the Porte d’Anvers (which has been demolished) was besieged by the Prince of Orange.  It was gallantly defended by the Spaniards for a long time; but, at last, three thousand of the burghers of Ghent, clothed in white shirts as a distinguishing mark, assaulted the citadel.  Their scaling-ladders were not long enough, and the attack failed.  On the following day, while preparations were in progress to renew the attack, the Spaniards capitulated.  When suitable terms had been agreed upon, the garrison, only one hundred and fifty in number, marched out under the command of a woman.  It appeared then that the governor of the fortress was absent, and that the Spaniards had been commanded, during the protracted siege, by his wife.”

This was rather a long speech to be made in the public square; but the boys, interested in the professor’s remarks, gathered closely around him; and it is not probable that many of the Ghenters who had been attracted to the square by the unwonted scene understood a word that was said.  The carriages next proceeded to the Béguinage, a kind of convent or nunnery.  The establishment is a little town by itself, with streets, squares, and gates, and is surrounded by a wall and moat.  In the centre there is a church.  The houses are occupied by the Beguines, a sisterhood of nuns in Belgium which has six thousand members.  They are bound by no vows, as ordinary nuns are, and may therefore return to the world at pleasure, marry, and come back in their widowhood.  They act as Sisters of Charity in the city, and some of them are wealthy; but all wear the garb of the order.  There are about six hundred of them in this colony.  On the door of each house is the name of the patron saint of the occupant.

The drive was continued through some of the principal streets of Ghent; and, within a few moments of the appointed time, the students were again seated in the railway carriages.  The road to Bruges extends along the side of the canal from Ostend to Ghent, which has high banks, lined nearly all the way with tall trees.  The view from the windows of the train was interesting rather than picturesque.  In an hour the train stopped at its destination; but it was after six o’clock, and there was no time for Professor Mapps to make any long speeches, though Bruges had a history hardly less exciting than that of Ghent.  It takes its name from the great number of bridges which it contains; for the place, like Ghent, is cut up by canals.

Bruges was once a rich and powerful city, reputed to contain two hundred thousand inhabitants; but, like nearly all the Flemish cities, it has declined from its former grandeur, and now contains only fifty-one thousand, nearly a third of whom are paupers.  In the fifteenth century, the Dukes of Burgundy held their court here; it had an immense foreign commerce, and its warehouses were filled with the silks and woollens manufactured in the vicinity.  All this has passed away, the town has the aspect of a ruined place, and its lofty and elegant public buildings-the remains of former prosperity-seem to mock its present desolation.

Fine houses may be hired in Bruges at a rent of from sixty to a hundred dollars a year.  It is said that a house has not been built in the city for a century, for the reason that its diminishing inhabitants were more than supplied by those which had once accommodated four times its present population.  The place is dead and dull.  The streets are nearly empty.  A man-servant finds himself upon a hundred dollars a year, and a French teacher charges twenty cents an hour for his services.

The Church of Notre Dame contains the tombs of Charles the Bold and of his daughter Mary.  La Chapelle du Saint Sang takes its name from several drops of the blood of the Savior, which are said to have been brought from the Holy Land.  They were presented to the town, and are kept in a richly jewelled shrine, which is exhibited to visitors at half a franc a head.  The famous order of the Knights of the Golden Fleece, so often mentioned by Motley, whose emblems are seen in many of the churches of Belgium, was established at Bruges, by Philip the Good, Duke of Burgundy.  The weavers of Flanders had carried the manufacture of wool to a degree of perfection which added greatly to the prosperity of the country, and the Golden Fleece was a fitting symbol of the industry of the people, as well as a compliment to their skill.

The great point of interest in Bruges to the students of the squadron was “The Belfry of Bruges,” which Longfellow has celebrated in his poem of that name, and in the “Carillon.”  It is a beautiful Gothic tower, on an antique building known as Les Halles, or The Market, a part of which was intended for a meat market, and a part for a cloth hall.  The spire, or belfry, is two hundred and ninety feet high.  It contains the finest set of chimes in Europe.  They play four times an hour, and their music is almost incessant.  The machinery by which they are operated consists of an immense metallic cylinder, or drum, covered all over with cogs and pins, like that in a music-box.  As this drum turns by the action of a huge weight, the pins strike against the levers that communicate with the bells.  For half an hour on Sunday they are played by hand, as at Antwerp.

The praise bestowed upon the chimes seemed to the students to be well merited.  There is nothing more touching and beautiful than the music of these bells.  The boys could not help taking in the inspiration they imparted; and when it transpired that Mr. Modelle, the professor of elocution, had a copy of Longfellow in his pocket, they almost unanimously insisted that the poems relating to the scene should be read.  They gathered around him, the circle closely flanked by the men, women, and children of the dull old town, who had apparently been roused from their lethargy by the advent of the young Americans.  In his deep bass tones he read the Carillon first.

   “In the ancient town of Bruges,
   In the quaint old Flemish city,
   As the evening shades descended,
   Low and loud, and sweetly blended,
   Low at times and loud at times,
   And changing like a poet’s rhymes,
   Rang the beautiful wild chimes
   From the belfry in the market
   Of the ancient town of Bruges.”

The students listened with almost breathless interest till the last line of the “Belfry” was read; there was something so grand and beautiful in the poem itself, as the images of the past are brought up,-

   “I beheld the pageants, splendid,
   That adorned those days of old: 
   Stately dames like queens attended,
   Knights who bore the Fleece of Gold,”-

and something in the association of the living lines with the real belfry of Bruges before them, that the impression was one to be remembered for years.

After a hasty walk through a couple of the ancient streets of the city, the students returned to the railroad station, and the train started for Brussels, a ride of about two hours from Bruges.  It was half past nine when they arrived at the capital of Belgium.  The party were greeted by Mr. Fluxion, who had been sent direct from Antwerp to make arrangements for their stay over night.  Captain Kendall, his officers and crew, were sent to the Hotel Royal in the Rue Fosse aux Loups.  It was a small hotel, but very nice and comfortable.  Mr. Molenschot, the proprietor, spoke English, but he appeared to be the only person in the house who could do so.  He was very polite and attentive to the students, and spoke familiarly and pleasantly to them about “my hotel.”

Mr. Fluxion himself had a faculty for keeping a hotel, and understood precisely what tired travellers wanted when they came in late in the evening; and he had ordered, in addition to the the complet, the bif-stek and pomme de terre.  The boys were as hungry as wolves, and the solid part of the entertainment was very inviting.  Each dish of beefsteak was covered over with nicely browned fried potatoes.  In a few moments there was hardly a vestige of the feast remaining on the table.

The Young America’s ship’s company were quartered at the Hotel de l’Univers, and the Hotel de Suède, so that the party was separated; and Paul was rather glad of it, because there were some belonging to the ship who were not influenced by the motives which prevailed in the Josephine.  He could control his crew, even without the aid of Mr. Fluxion, who, with several of the professors also lodged at the Royal.

They were a jolly party at the supper table; and as none of the waiters spoke a word of English, there was a great deal of fun made in giving their orders; but everybody was remarkably good-natured, including the waiters themselves.

“Waiter,” called Lynch, who, as a general rule, was not guilty of knowing much about any of his studies, “bring me the bur.”

The servant took no notice of him.

“Call him a garcon” said Grossbeck.

“Garcon!” shouted Lynch.

“Monsieur,” replied the man.

“Bring me the bur.”

“You might as well call for a Canada thistle,” laughed Duncan, who was one of the best French scholars in the Josephine.

“I want some butter; I have eaten up all the bif-stek, and all the pomme de terres, and now I want some bread and butter.  These fellows don’t understand their own language.”

“M’apportez du beurre,” added Duncan.

“Oui, oui, oui!” exclaimed the waiter, producing the required article.

“That’s the idea,” replied Lynch; “that man’s improving.  But this beurre is so fresh I can’t eat it; I want some salt.”

“Call for it, then,” laughed Duncan.

“I will; here’s a go. Garcon, mapperty sellier!”

“Good!” roared Duncan.  “If we had a saddle of mutton for supper, I should suppose you would want what you called for.”

“I want the salt.”

“I thought you did; and that’s the reason why you called for a saddler.”

“I didn’t call for any saddler.  I said sellier.”

“Precisely so; and that is a saddler.”

“What shall I say?”

“Sel.”

“Sel; sellier.  Well, I knew there was a sell about it somewhere.”

“Precisely; but you were sold.  I advise you not to make any long speeches in French.”

“You may bet your life I shall not,” replied Lynch.

“Just mention the thing you want in one word; then you won’t confuse garcon’s intellect by flooding it with ideas.”

“Garcon-sel,” added Lynch, acting upon this excellent advice.

The waiter brought the sel, and nobody was sold this time.

“I think I shall pick up the French language in time,” added Lynch, encouraged by his success.

“Perhaps you will, but the Hotel Royal will have crumbled to dust before that happy event occurs.”

There was any quantity of blunders made at the table, and some of the students had nearly choked themselves to death with laughing at them, and at the blank looks of the waiters when spoken to in a tongue which Mr. Fluxion declared sounded more like Low Dutch than decent French.  Mr. Molenschot laughed too, and intimated that “my hotel” had never been so lively before.

“What now, Captain Kendall?” said Mr. Fluxion, when the supper and the blunders had ended.

“My officers and crew wish to take a little walk,” replied Paul.

“What! to-night?.  It is after ten o’clock.”

“They wish to see how ‘Belgium’s capital’ looks in the evening.”

“Of course you can do as you think best; but I advise you to be cautious with them.  They may get into trouble in a strange city, or get lost.  If some of them can’t speak French any better than they did at supper, they will have to go to the watch-house, because they can’t ask the way back.”

“They can say Hotel Royal.  None of my crew have ever got into trouble since the ship’s company was organized,” added Paul, who wanted to go out himself, and could not deny to others what he took himself.

The permission was given to walk till eleven o’clock, but the boys were admonished to behave properly, and to return punctually.  Lynch and Grossbeck, who still clung together as fast friends, left the hotel in company.

“This is jolly-isn’t it?” said Lynch, as they passed out of the Rue Fosse aux Loups into the Place de la Monnaie, a small square in front of the Theatre Royal.

“For less than an hour,” added Grossbeck, gloomily.

“We don’t understand French, and so we can’t tell what time it is,” laughed Lynch.

“That won’t go down.  We were told to be back at eleven.”

“But if we don’t know what time it is, we can’t be tied to the bell-rope.”

“No use; the captain knows the boom from the bobstay, and if he isn’t a Knight of the Golden Fleece, you can’t pull wool over his eyes.  You know he put McDougal through this morning.”

“Well, come along.  We’ll have a good time while it does last,” replied Lynch, apparently appalled by recalling the summary treatment of his shipmate.

“Everybody seems to be having a good time here,” said Grossbeck, as they passed a cafe, in front of which were a great number of small tables, at which gentlemen were drinking, smoking, and carrying on noisy conversation.  “I don’t see any reason why we should not.  What are they drinking there?”

“Beer, or wine, I suppose,” answered Lynch, as he led the way he knew not whither, turning to the left, because the street in that direction looked more lively than the others.

There was nothing to be seen, as most of the shops were closed; but they continued on their way till they came to a kind of arcade, a building which contained a broad passage-way, opening from the street, with a large number of little shops on either side.

The interior was brilliantly lighted, and most of the small stores were devoted to fancy goods and other showy articles.  The young seamen entered the arcade, in which many people were promenading.

“They say this city is a second edition of Paris on a small scale,” continued Lynch.  “This is very well got up; but from what I have seen of the town, it looks like a one-horse city.  The streets are not much wider than a cow-path.”

“But they say it is like Paris,” added Grossbeck.

“My eyes! there’s a clock that speaks English!  It is half past ten,” exclaimed Lynch.  “But I’m not going back to the Hotel Royal till I’ve had a little fun.  There’s a what-you-call-it, where they sell wine.  Let’s go in, and see what it’s like.”

The place indicated was a wine-shop, and the two boys entered, seating themselves at one of the little tables.  The prompt waiter came to them, bowed and scraped, and flourished a napkin, and hinted that he would be happy to take their order.

“What will you have, Grossbeck?”

“I’ll take a glass of wine.”

“Let’s see you take it!” laughed Lynch.  “What shall we call for?  I don’t remember a word of French, now that I want to use it.”

“Perhaps the garcon can speak English.  Ask him.”

“Ask him?  What shall I say?”

“O, I know. Parlez-vous Angleterre?” added Grossbeck, turning to the waiter.

“Non, monsieur,” replied the waiter, who did not speak “England.”

“O, confound it!  What’s the Dutch for wine?” demanded Lynch, impatiently.

“I know-eau de vie. Garcon, eau de vie,” replied Grossbeck, confidently.

The waiter disappeared, and presently returned with a small decanter and two minute wine-glasses.

“I knew eau de vie would bring it,” added Grossbeck, as he filled the little glasses.

“That’s pretty strong wine,” said Lynch, when he had swallowed the contents of the glass with a very wry face.

“That’s so.”

They looked about them till the clock indicated that it was time to start for the hotel; but they decided to repeat the dose from the decanter, and did so.

“That’s the strongest wine I ever drank,” said Grossbeck.

“How much is it?” asked Lynch.

“Let’s see-combien?”

“Un franc cinquante centimes,” replied the waiter, after he had glanced at a gauge on the decanter which indicated the quantity of the fiery fluid that had been consumed.

Neither of them could understand the answer, and Grossbeck handed the garcon a franc.  The man shook his head, and held out his hand for more.  Lynch gave him another franc, and he returned a half franc piece.

“Pour boire?” said the man with a winning smile.

“Poor bwar!  Who’s he?” demanded Lynch, in whose head the strong water was producing its effect.  “He means ‘poor boy.’  I say, Grossbeck, does he think I’m-I’m sizzled?  I feel so myself.  Come, let’s go.”

They rose, and moved in a serpentine path to the door.

“Pour boire?” repeated the garcon, following them.

“That’s what’s the matter.  I’m a poor boy!  I was a fool to drink more’n one nip of your camphene,” hickuped Lynch.  “Here, old fellow, here’s a half of one of those francs.  Don’t say nothing more about it.  I’m a poor boy, but I shall get over it.”

The young tippler handed the half-franc piece to the waiter, who bowed, scraped, flourished his napkin, and fled.