We have heard so much of the "Dead cities of Holland," and especially of the secluded life on the island of Marken, that we determine to see for ourselves what this term really signifies. On our way thither, we pass through the old town of Monnikendam, in which we behold many strange and curious sights. People and buildings impress us with the idea that "Father Time" has forgotten this place altogether in his rounds of cutting down and making place for newcomers. The ancient and picturesque houses look as though coeval with Time himself; but in truth they are only mediæval; it is the people who have stood still. The present age has no place in their lives.
The population of the town numbers about twenty-three hundred, and this is largely made up of children, judging from the appearance of the streets. The main street is wide and attractive, but the side streets are narrow, and all are paved with hard bricks placed edgewise. At night the town is lighted by lamps balanced upon rude posts: coal is generally used for fuel, but some of the residents use gasoline, which also serves for light. The houses are primitive in construction, and the people seem odd and inquisitive, but simple and economical in dress and habit. As we expect to return in a short time, we direct our course without delay to the Island of Marken.
[Illustration: "The blue stream finds its outlet in the river." (_See page 159._)]
A good-sized yacht lies at anchor in the Zuyder Zee, beside the banks of Monnikendam. The captain is a full-blooded "Markenite," born and bred on the island. Having made arrangements with him, we go on board and are soon on our way to the strange city: our hearts beat more quickly, and all eyes are eagerly strained toward it, when the distant island appears in the direction of our yacht's bow. After an hour's sail, we come to anchor in the harbor of this secluded wonderland. As we approach the town, the view from our boat seems to justify the title which has been given to it of "the Dead City." It lies away from everything and everybody, and save the deep sea which surrounds it, and which supplies its inhabitants with food, the island of Marken has for centuries known no association outside its own boundaries.