After supper, which consists of cold fish, coffee, cheese, boiled potatoes and tea with a private nip of the real ancient Holland gin, we walk out again without a guide, to do some shopping. We have a funny experience, as we are compelled to resort to pantomime in making the various purchases. Entering a "general" store in search of candles, we at first ask for them in English: the good-natured shopwoman smiles and shakes her head. I repeat the word "candles," at the same time going through the motion of striking a match on the counter, and holding it up to the end of my forefinger. This strange proceeding attracts the attention of a young man and woman, who draw near the counter, followed by several other members of the family, but I cannot make them comprehend. We then try the French language, but this also proves a failure, so we are obliged to depart without our candles, although I am confident they have them somewhere in the store.
Scene after scene of this kind is gone through with in the different shops, and now our curious actions have attracted a large crowd of people who follow close at our heels, wondering what we will do next, and thinking, no doubt, that we are a very good kind of free show. Such strange beings rarely visit their isolated town, and they are certainly enjoying their opportunity to its full extent. When we stop to look into a shop-window, they stop too, and follow our example like very shadows. The expression of wonder and merriment depicted on the countenances of both young and old is a fine study for an artist.
As we saunter leisurely along, we espy a clothing store, which we enter, and find half-a-dozen men lounging about with long clay pipes in their mouths, and their hands in the pockets of their baggy trousers. Their faces wear a peaceful, contented expression, which changes to a look of surprise as we approach them, and they scan our attire, as something wholly different from anything to which they are accustomed. The gaping throng outside besieges the doorway. As the men still gaze curiously at us, I draw near the one who appears to be the proprietor of the establishment, and in pantomime, aided by English, interspersed with a little French, ask for a Marken suit of clothes. The man laughs and looks perplexed; his companions also shake their heads in token that they do not understand. With serious countenances and widely-opened eyes, they follow the motions of my lips and hands. Uttering slowly the words: "Marken suit," I point to my own trousers, coat and vest. Their eyes follow my hands, first to my trousers, then to my coat and vest. It is a difficult position; but what a treat to watch their puzzled countenances, now smiling, now with a look of actual pain in their efforts to understand.
