December i, 1908.] 



THE INDIA RUBBER WORLD 



89 



Rubber Hunting in Holland — I. 



By the Editor of "The htdm Rubber World." 



ALMOST from ihe time I learned to read, Holland had a 

 deep interest for me. Among my earliest memories were 

 fragments of Dutch history and stories of heroic struggles 

 for libetry, for it was when I was quite young that my gifted 

 mother wrote a serial entitled "The Pilgrims of Leiden." The 

 magazine in which the story was published has been out of 

 existence for forty years, and the story, buried under mountains 

 of modern fiction, is forgotten, but it left its lasting impress on 

 me, in that I felt such a respect for and interest in the Dutch 

 that one of my ambitions was to some day visit and see for my- 

 self the evidences of their greatness, past and present. It was, 

 therefore, with much anticipatory delight that I found myself 

 one raw misty evening hurrying along, the stone quays of Queens- 

 borough in the wake of a sturdy porter on- my way to the little 

 sidewheeler whose duty it was to take a couple of hundred of 

 us safely to Flushing. Vou will note that I called it Flushing, 

 although in a very few hours it would be Vlissingen. 



The passengers were an exceedingly mixed lot. There were 

 English, German, FVench, Dutch, Swedes and Italians crowded 

 in a stuffy main saloon that was dining room, bar, ticket ofHce 

 and waiting room, all in one. Some of us were fortunate 

 enough to have secured cabins in which were bunks a trifle wider 

 than a broad window sill. These beds were fitted with shallow 

 mattresses and sheets and blankets so thin that we wondered how 

 they held together. Against the metal guard that formed the 

 outside of the bunk hung a huge leaden colored tin cuspidor, 

 that was so eloquent of imil de mcr that one felt qualmish even 

 before the boat started. 



The pilot had already told me that the North sea was in a 

 tantrum and the crossing would be a rough one. So I waded 

 through the luggage that choked the gangway and sought my 

 cabin early, and before we really got out of the Thames was 

 fast asleep between the salty sheets. When I woke, the little 

 boat was prancing like a turtle with the St. Vitus dance, and the 

 heavy eaters who two short hours before had been gorging beet 

 and beer were now disgorging with coughs and groans. I was 

 perilously near to joining the chorus myself, but by lying flat 

 on my back with eyes closed, was able to hold my own. At 4:15 

 in the morning a huge dinner bell was rung and we turned out 

 for coffee, ham and eggs. It was awfully cold, but finally we 

 strung up the gangways to the custom house and were quickly 

 passed along to a fine warm train. The contrast was so pleasant that 

 we really felt quite cheerful. As the sun rose and the morning 

 mists were dissipated the scenery that only Holland can furnish 

 opened out before us. Vast stretches of broad meadow, flat as 



the top of a billiard table, canals big and little, deep and shallow, 

 lofty earthern dikes, on the tops of which were carriage roads, 

 and row after row of trees, all of the same size and height and 

 trimmed and manicured to the last degree of arboreal neatness 

 and respectibility. 



Meanwhile we went through thrifty Dutch villages where the 

 houses were all of brick or stone with tiled roofs, each one of 

 them suggesting "Spotless Town" by their extreme cleanliness. 

 Early as it was the farmers were at work in the fields; some 

 plowing with three horses hitched tandem or abreast, and 

 some getting in cartloads of sugar beets to help make up the 

 huge train loads that often passed us on their way to the sugar 

 factories. Of course, we saw many windmills and appreciated 

 their picturesque value in breaking the flat monotony of the 

 level fields. Then, too, we saw great flocks of sheep fattening for 

 the English market— real "Southdown mutton." There were 

 herds of fine black and white cattle, each cow with a burlap 

 shawl, covering shoulder and rump and protecting her from the 

 cold of the night. Of course, we had provided ourselves with 

 maps and guide books in English, German, Dutch, and French, 

 and were able to identify the points of interest through which 

 we passed. Being in the kindergarten stage, as far as Holland 

 and Dutch went, we did not attempt to pronounce such words 

 as noord-krecuiijcrt or rijioord, but devoted ourselves to using 

 such town names as Middleburgh, Rosedaal and Dordrecht, 

 which everybody called "Dort." 



Before we reached this latter city we passed over one of the 

 largest and finest railway bridges in the world. It crosses the 

 Hollandsch Diep and is a wonderful result of engineering 

 skill. The river is very broad where the bridge passes over it, 

 in spite of the long piers, one 1,125 feet and the other 3,330 feet 

 that have been built out from either side. The bridge itself is 

 5,000 feet long and is supported on 13 pillars. After crossing, a 

 ride of 10 minutes brings one into the historic city of Dort, with 

 its ancient buildings, wonderful inuseums, its groote kerk or 

 cathedral, and its broad canals lined with steamers and river 

 boats. 



It is only a short run from there to Rotterdam. The morning 

 boat-train lands passengers in the fine Beurs (Exchange) station 

 at 8:30 in the morning. Here a porter shouldered our luggage, 

 nodded comprehendingly when we said "Maas Hotel," and 

 started briskly off witli a load that three American porters 

 would have grumbled at. He would not allow us to take a 

 carriage, from which we imagined that the hotel must be just 

 around the corner, sn wc followed him. The morning was 



The Approach to Dordrecht. 



The "Coonsingll," Kuukkdam — A I'i^lnlh-al SiktEi. 



