This done, Elsje sat herself down and threw her white handkerchief over her head, letting it flutter in the wind.  One of the crew asked her why she did so, and she replied that the servant in the castle had been tormenting her, saying that she would never dare to sail to Gorcum in such tempestuous weather, and she was now signalling him that she had been as good as her word.  Whereupon she continued to wave the handkerchief.

In reality the signal was for her mistress, who was now straining her eyes from the barred window which looked out upon the Waal, and with whom the maid had agreed that if all went prosperously she would give this token of success.  Otherwise she would sit with her head in her hands.

During the voyage an officer of the garrison, who happened to be on board, threw himself upon the chest as a convenient seat, and began drumming and pounding with his heels upon it.  The ever watchful Elsje, feeling the dreadful inconvenience to the prisoner of these proceedings, who perhaps was already smothering and would struggle for air if not relieved, politely addressed the gentleman and induced him to remove to another seat by telling him that, besides the books, there was some valuable porcelain in the chest which might easily be broken.

No further incident occurred.  The wind, although violent, was favourable, and Gorcum in due time was reached.  Elsje insisted upon having her own precious freight carried first into the town, although the skipper for some time was obstinately bent on leaving it to the very last, while all the other merchandise in the vessel should be previously unshipped.

At last on promise of payment of ten stuivers, which was considered an exorbitant sum, the skipper and son agreed to transport the chest between them on a hand-barrow.  While they were trudging with it to the town, the son remarked to his father that there was some living thing in the box.  For the prisoner in the anguish of his confinement had not been able to restrain a slight movement.

“Do you hear what my son says?” cried the skipper to Elsje.  “He says you have got something alive in your trunk.”

“Yes, yes,” replied the cheerful maid-servant; “Arminian books are always alive, always full of motion and spirit.”

They arrived at Daatselaer’s house, moving with difficulty through the crowd which, notwithstanding the boisterous weather, had been collected by the annual fair.  Many people were assembled in front of the building, which was a warehouse of great resort, while next door was a book-seller’s shop thronged with professors, clergymen, and other literary persons.  The carriers accordingly entered by the backway, and Elsje, deliberately paying them their ten stuivers, and seeing them depart, left the box lying in a room at the rear and hastened to the shop in front.

Here she found the thread and ribbon dealer and his wife, busy with their customers, unpacking and exhibiting their wares.  She instantly whispered in Madame Daatselaer’s ear, “I have got my master here in your back parlour.”