Rollo in Holland | Page 9

and other preparations more or
less advanced for breakfasts or dinners that may have been ordered,
while at almost all times of the day, a greater or less number of them
are occupied by parties of tourists, their bags and baskets lying on the
neighboring chairs.
It was into this room, so occupied, that our travellers were ushered as

they walked from the station into the hotel.
Mrs. Parkman walked forward, and took her seat near a window. The
gentlemen attended her.
"What a magnificent view!" said she.
The view was indeed magnificent. Across the water was to be seen the
coast of France, lying like a low cloud close to the horizon. Ships, and
steamers, and fish boats, and every other sort of craft were seen plying
to and fro over the water,--some going out, others coming in. Through
one of the windows in the end of the room, Mrs. Parkman could see the
castle crowning its bold and lofty promontory, and the perpendicular
cliffs of chalk, with the sea beating against the base of them below.
Through the opposite window, which of course was at the other end of
the room, the view extended down the coast for a great distance,
showing point after point, and headland after headland, in dim
perspective--with a long line of surf rolling incessantly upon the beach,
which seemed, in that direction, interminable.
After looking for some time at the view from the windows, Mrs.
Parkman turned to observe the company in the room, and to watch the
several parties of new comers as they successively entered. She wished
to see if there were any young brides among them. While she was thus
engaged, her husband selected a table that was vacant, and ordered
breakfast. Mr. George and Rollo did the same at another table near.
While Mr. George and Rollo were at the table drinking their coffee, Mr.
George asked Rollo what he supposed the porter meant by saying that
the eleven o'clock boat was a tidal boat.
"I know," said Rollo. "I read it in the guide book. The tidal steamers go
at high tide, or nearly high tide, and if you go in them you embark from
the pier on one side, and you land at the pier on the other. But the mail
steamers go at a regular hour every day, and then when it happens to be
low tide, they cannot get to the pier, and the passengers have to land in
small boats. That is what the porter meant when he said that it would
not be pleasant for a lady to go in the mail steamer. It is very

unpleasant for ladies to be landed in small boats when the weather is
rough."
"I don't believe that Mrs. Parkman understood it," said Mr. George.
"Nor I either," said Rollo.
"I presume she thought," added Mr. George, "that when the porter
spoke about the rough sea, he only referred to the motion of the steamer
in going over."
"Yes," said Rollo, "but what he really meant was, that it would be bad
for her to get down from the steamer into the small boat at the landing.
I am afraid that she will not like it, though I think that it will be real
good fun."
"Very likely it will be fun for you," said Mr. George.
"I would a great deal rather go across in a mail steamer at low tide than
in any other way," said Rollo.
[Illustration]
CHAPTER III.
THE MAIL STEAMER.
Rollo's explanation in respect to the mail steamer was correct. As has
before been stated in some one or other of the volumes of this series,
the northern coast of France is low, and the shore is shelving for almost
the whole extent of it, and there are scarcely any good harbors.
Immense sandy beaches extend along the coast, sloping so gradually
outward, that when the tide goes down the sands are left bare for miles
and miles towards the sea. The only way by which harbors can be made
on such a shore is to find some place where a creek or small river flows
into the sea, and then walling in the channel at the mouth of the creek,
so as to prevent it being choked up by sand. In this way a passage is
secured, by which, when the tide is high, pretty good sized vessels can

get in; but, after all that they can do in such a case, they cannot make a
harbor which can be entered at low tide. When the tide is out, nothing
is left between the two piers, which form the borders of the channel, but
muddy flats, with a small, sluggish stream, scarcely deep enough to
float a jolly boat, slowly meandering in the midst