By Pike and Dyke: A Tale of the Rise of the Dutch Republic

“It is all very well, Ned,” he said, as they were talking the matter over in family conclave in the evening; “and I do not deny that I share in the satisfaction that all these women are expressing. It is a high honour that you should be employed on a mission for her majesty, and there are scores of young nobles who would be delighted to be employed in such service; but you see, Ned, you are not a young noble, and although honour is a fine thing, it will buy neither bread nor cheese. If you were the heir to great estates you would naturally rejoice in rendering services which might bring you into favour at court, and win for you honour and public standing; but you see you are the son of a master mariner, happily the owner of his own ship and of other properties which are sufficient to keep him in comfort, but which will naturally at the death of your mother and myself go to the girls, while you will have the Good Venture and my share in other vessels. But these are businesses that want looking after, and the income would go but a little way to support you in a position at court. You have now been two years away from the sea. That matters little; but if you were to continue in the royal service for a time you would surely become unfitted to return to the rough life of a master mariner. Fair words butter no parsnip, Ned. Honour and royal service empty the purse instead of filling it. It behooves you to think these matters over.”

“I am surprised at you, Will,” Dame Martin said. “I should have thought that you would have been proud of the credit and honour that Ned is winning. Why, all our neighbours are talking of nothing else!”

“All our neighbours will not be called upon, wife, to pay for Master Ned's support, to provide him with courtly garments, and enable him to maintain a position which will do credit to his royal mistress. I am proud of Ned, as proud as anyone can be, but that is no reason why I should be willing to see him spend his life as a needy hanger on of the court rather than as a British sailor, bearing a good name in the city, and earning a fair living by honest trade. Ned knows that I am speaking only for his own good. Court favour is but an empty thing, and our good queen is fickle in her likings, and has never any hesitation in disavowing the proceedings of her envoys. When a man has broad lands to fall back upon he can risk the loss of court favour, and can go into retirement assured that sooner or later he will again have his turn. But such is not Ned's position. I say not that I wish him at once to draw back from this course; but I would have him soberly think it over and judge whether it is one that in the long run is likely to prove successful.”

Mrs. Martin, her sister-in-law, and the four girls looked anxiously at Ned. They had all, since the day that he was first sent for to Greenwich, been in a high state of delight at the honour that had befallen him, and his father's words had fallen like a douche of cold water upon their aspirations.

“I fully recognize the truth of what you say, father,” he said, after a pause, “and will think it deeply over, which I shall have time to do before my return from Holland. Assuredly it is not a matter to be lightly decided. It may mean that this royal service may lead to some position of profit as well as honour; although now, as you have put it to me, I own that the prospect seems to me to be a slight one, and that where so many are ready to serve for honour alone, the chance of employment for one requiring money as well as honour is but small. However, there can be no need for instant decision. I am so fond of the sea that I am sure that, even if away from it for two or three years, I should be ready and willing to return to it. I am as yet but little over eighteen, and even if I remained in the royal service until twenty-one I should still have lost but little of my life, and should not be too old to take to the sea again.

“In time I shall see more plainly what the views of Lord Walsingham are concerning me, and whether there is a prospect of advancement in the service. He will know that I cannot afford to give my life to the queen's service without pay, not being, as you say, a noble or a great landowner.”

“That is very well spoken, Ned,” his father said. “There is no need in any way for you to come to any resolution on the subject at present; I shall be well content to wait until you come of age. As you say, by that time you will see whether this is but a brief wind of royal favour, or whether my Lord Walsingham designs to continue you in the royal service and to advance your fortunes. I find that I am able to get on on board a ship better than I had expected, and have no wish to retire from the sea at present; therefore there will be plenty of time for you to decide when you get to the age of one and twenty. Nevertheless this talk will not have been without advantage, for it will be far better for you not to have set your mind altogether upon court service; and you will then, if you finally decide to return to the sea, not have to suffer such disappointment as you would do had you regarded it as a fixed thing that some great fortune was coming to you. So let it be an understood thing, that this matter remains entirely open until you come to the age of twenty-one.”

Ned accordingly went backwards and forwards to Holland for the next two years, bearing letters and messages between the queen and the Prince of Orange.

There was some pause in military operations after the relief of Leyden. Negotiations had for a long time gone on between the King of Spain, acting by Royal Commissioners, on the one side, and the prince and the Estates on the other. The Royal Commissioners were willing in his name to make considerable concessions, to withdraw the Spanish troops from the country, and to permit the Estates General to assemble; but as they persisted that all heretics should either recant or leave the provinces, no possible agreement could be arrived at, as the question of religion was at the bottom of the whole movement.

During the year 1575 the only military operation of importance was the recovery by the Spaniards of the Island of Schouwen, which, with its chief town Zierickzee, was recovered by a most daring feat of arms — the Spaniards wading for miles through water up to the neck on a wild and stormy night, and making their way across in spite of the efforts of the Zeelanders in their ships. Zierickzee indeed resisted for many months, and finally surrendered only to hunger; the garrison obtaining good terms from the Spaniards, who were so anxious for its possession that to obtain it they were even willing for once to forego their vengeance for the long resistance it had offered.

In March, 1576, while the siege was still going on, Requesens died suddenly of a violent fever, brought on partly by anxiety caused by another mutiny of the troops. This mutiny more than counterbalanced the advantage gained by the capture of the Island of Schouwen, for after taking possession of it the soldiers engaged in the service at once joined the mutiny and marched away into Brabant.

The position of Holland had gone from bad to worse, the utmost efforts of the population were needed to repair the broken dykes and again recover the submerged lands. So bare was the country of animals of all kinds, that it had become necessary to pass a law forbidding for a considerable period the slaughter of oxen, cows, calves, sheep, or poultry. Holland and Zeeland had now united in a confederacy, of which the prince was at the head, and by an Act of Union in June, 1575, the two little republics became virtually one. Among the powers and duties granted to the prince he was to maintain the practice of the reformed evangelical religion, and to cause to cease the exercise of all other religions contrary to the Gospel. He was, however, not to permit that inquisition should be made into any man's belief or conscience, or that any man by cause thereof should suffer trouble, injury, or hindrance.

Upon one point only the prince had been peremptory, he would have no persecution. In the original terms he had been requested to suppress “the Catholic religion,” but had altered the words into “religion at variance with the Gospel.” Almost alone, at a time when every one was intolerant, the Prince of Orange was firmly resolved that all men should have liberty of conscience.

Holland suffered a great loss when Admiral Boisot fell in endeavouring to relieve Zierickzee. The harbour had been surrounded by Spaniards by a submerged dyke of piles of rubbish. Against this Boisot drove his ship, which was the largest of his fleet. He did not succeed in breaking through. The tide ebbed and left his ship aground, while the other vessels were beaten back. Rather than fall into the hands of the enemy, he and 300 of his companions sprang overboard and endeavoured to effect their escape by swimming, but darkness came on before he could be picked up, and he perished by drowning.

The mutiny among the Spanish regiments spread rapidly, and the greater part of the German troops of Spain took part in it. The mutineers held the various citadels throughout the country, and ravaged the towns, villages, and open country. The condition of the people of Brabant was worse than ever. Despair led them to turn again to the provinces which had so long resisted the authority of Spain, and the fifteen other states, at the invitation of the prince, sent deputies to Ghent to a general congress, to arrange for a close union between the whole of the provinces of the Netherlands.

Risings took place in all parts of the country, but they were always repressed by the Spaniards; who, though in open mutiny against their king and officers, had no idea of permitting the people of the Netherlands to recover the liberty that had at the cost of so much blood been wrung from them. Maastricht drove out its garrison; but the Spaniards advanced against the town, seized a vast number of women, and placing these before them advanced to the assault. The citizens dared not fire, as many of their own wives or sisters were among the women; the town was therefore taken, and a hideous massacre followed.

Ned Martin had now been two years engaged upon various missions to Holland, and Lord Walsingham himself acknowledged to his mistress that her choice of the young officer had been a singularly good one. He had conducted himself with great discretion, his reports were full and minute, and he had several times had audiences with the queen, and had personally related to her matters of importance concerning the state of Holland, and the views of the prince and the Estates General. The congress at Ghent, and the agitation throughout the whole of the Netherlands, had created a lively interest in England, and Ned received orders to visit Ghent and Antwerp, and to ascertain more surely the probability of an organization of the provinces into a general confederation.

When he reached Ghent he found that the attention of the citizens was for the time chiefly occupied with the siege of the citadel, which was held by a Spanish garrison, and he therefore proceeded to Antwerp. This was at the time probably the wealthiest city in Europe. It carried on the largest commerce in the world, its warehouses were full of the treasures of all countries, its merchants vied with princes in splendour. The proud city was dominated, however, by its citadel, which had been erected not for the purpose of external defence but to overawe the town.

The governor of the garrison, D'Avila, had been all along recognized as one of the leaders of the mutiny. The town itself was garrisoned by Germans who still held aloof from the mutiny, but who had been tampered with by him. The governor of the city, Champagny, although a sincere Catholic, hated the Spaniards, and had entered into negotiations with the prince. The citizens thought at present but little of the common cause, their thoughts being absorbed by fears of their own safety, threatened by the mutinous Spanish troops who had already captured and sacked Alost, and were now assembling with the evident intention of gathering for themselves the rich booty contained within the walls of Antwerp.

As they approached the town, a force of 5000 Walloon infantry and 1200 cavalry were despatched from Brussels to the aid of its sister city. No sooner, however, did this force enter the town than it broke into a mutiny, which was only repressed with the greatest difficulty by Champagny. It was at this moment that Ned entered the city. He at once communicated with the governor, and delivered to him some messages with which he had been charged by the Prince of Orange, whom he had visited on his way.

“Had you arrived three days since I could have discussed these matters with you,” the governor said; “but as it is we are hourly expecting attack, and can think of nothing but preparations for defence. I shall be glad if you can assist me in that direction. Half the German garrison are traitors, the Walloons who have just entered are in no way to be relied upon, and it is the burghers themselves upon whom the defence of the town must really fall. They are now engaged in raising a rampart facing the citadel. I am at once proceeding thither to superintend the work.”

Ned accompanied the governor to the spot and found twelve thousand men and women labouring earnestly to erect a rampart, constructed of bales of goods, casks of earth, upturned wagons, and other bulky objects. The guns of the fortress opened upon the workers, and so impeded them that night fell before the fortifications were nearly completed. Unfortunately it was bright moonlight, and the artillerymen continued their fire with such accuracy that the work was at last abandoned, and the citizens retired to their homes. Champagny did all that was possible. Aided by some burghers and his own servants, he planted what few cannon there were at the weakest points; but his general directions were all neglected, and not even scouts were posted.

In the morning a heavy mist hung over the city, and concealed the arrival of the Spanish troops from all the towns and fortresses in the neighbourhood. As soon as it was fairly daylight the defenders mustered. The Marquis of Havre claimed for the Walloons the post of honour in defence of the lines facing the citadel; and 6000 men were disposed here, while the bulk of the German garrison were stationed in the principal squares.

At ten o'clock the mutineers from Alost marched into the citadel, raising the force there to 5000 veteran infantry and 600 cavalry.

Ned had been all night at work assisting the governor. He had now laid aside his ordinary attire, and was clad in complete armour. He was not there to fight; but there was clearly nothing else to do, unless indeed he made his escape at once to the fleet of the Prince of Orange, which was lying in the river. This he did not like doing until it was clear that all was lost. He had seen the Dutch burghers beat back the most desperate assaults of the Spanish troops, and assuredly the Walloons and Germans, who, without counting the burghers, considerably exceeded the force of the enemy, ought to be able to do the same.

Just before daybreak he made his way down to the quays, ascertained the exact position of the fleet, and determined how he had best get on board. He chose a small boat from among those lying at the quay, and removed it to the foot of some stairs by a bridge. He fastened the head rope to a ring and pushed the boat off, so that it lay under the bridge, concealed from the sight of any who might pass along the wharves. Having thus prepared for his own safety, he was making his way to rejoin the governor when a woman came out from a house in a quiet street. As she met him he started.

“Why, Magdalene!” he exclaimed, “is it you? What are you doing in Antwerp? Is the countess here?”

The woman looked at him in surprise.

“Don't you remember me, Magdalene? the boy you dressed up as a girl at Brussels, and whom you last saw at Maastricht?”

“Bless me!” the old servant exclaimed, “is it you, sir? I should never have known you again.”

“Three years make a great deal of difference,” Ned laughed; “and it is more than that now since we last met.”

“Please to come in, sir; the countess will be right glad to see you, and so will Miss Gertrude. They have talked of you hundreds of times, and wondered what had become of you.” She opened the door again with the great key, and led the way into the house.

“Mistress,” she said, showing the way into the parlour, “here is a visitor for you.” The countess and her daughter had, like every one else in Antwerp, been up all night, and rose from her seat by the fire as the young officer entered. He took off his helmet and bowed deeply.

“What is your business with me?” the countess asked, seeing that he did not speak.

“I have not come exactly upon business, countess,” he replied, “but to thank you for past kindnesses.”

“Mother, it is the English boy!” exclaimed the young lady sitting upon the side of the fire, rising from her seat. “Surely, sir, you are Master Edward Martin?”

“Your eyes are not in fault, Fraulein. I am Edward Martin.”

“I am glad, indeed, to see you, sir,” the countess said. “How often my daughter and I have longed for the time when we might again meet you to tell how grateful we are for the service you did us. I wonder now that I did not recognize you; but you have changed from a lad into a man. You must remember it is more than four years since we were together at Brussels. As for the meeting near Maastricht, it was such a short one; and I was so full of joy at the thought that Gertrude and I had escaped the fearful danger hanging over us that I scarce noticed your appearance, nor had we any time to talk then. We received the letter you wrote after leaving us at Brussels, from the Hague, telling us that you had arrived there safely. But since you did us that service at Maastricht we have never heard of you.”

“I had not your address,” Ned replied. “And even had I known where you were I should not have dared to write; for there was no saying into whose hands the letter might not fall. But, countess, excuse me if I turn to other matters, for the time presses sorely. You know that the city will be attacked today.”

“So every one says,” the countess replied. “But surely you do not think that there is any danger. The Walloons and Germans should be able alone to hold the barricades, and behind them are all the citizens.”

“I put little faith in the Walloons,” Ned said shortly; “and some of the Germans we know have been bribed. I would rather that all were out of the way, and that it were left to the burghers alone to defend the barricades. I have seen how the citizens of the Netherlands can fight at Haarlem and Alkmaar. As for these Walloons, I have no faith in them. I fear, countess, that the danger is great; and if the Spaniards succeed in winning their way into the town, there is no mercy to be expected for man, woman, or child. I consider that it would be madness for you to stay here.”

“But what are we to do, sir?” the countess asked.

“The only way, madam, is to make your way on board the prince's fleet. I am known to many of the officers, and can place you on board at once. If you wait until the Spaniards enter it will be too late. There will be a wild rush to the river, and the boats will be swamped. If the attack fails, and the Spaniards retire from before the city, you can if you choose return to shore, though I should say that even then it will be better by far to go to Rotterdam or Delft; unless you decide to do as you once talked about, to find a refuge for a time in England.”

“I will accept your offer gladly, sir,” the countess said. “I have long been looking for some way to leave the city. But none can go on board the ships without a pass, and I have not dared to ask for one. Not for worlds would I expose my daughter to the horrors of a sack. Can we go at once?”

“Yes, madam, I have everything in readiness, and would advise no delay.”

“I have nothing that I need mind leaving behind. I am, as you see, more comfortable here than I was at Brussels; but I am still forced to keep my concealment. In five minutes we shall be ready.”

CHAPTER XX. THE “SPANISH FURY”

In a very short time the countess and her daughter returned to the room where Ned was awaiting them. Each carried a handbag.

“We are ready now,” the countess said. “I have my jewels and purse. As for the things we leave behind, they are scarce worth the taking by the Spaniards.”

Locking the door of the house behind them the three women accompanied Ned down to the riverside. He took the first boat that came to hand and rowed them down to the fleet, which was moored a quarter of a mile below the town. He passed the first ship or two, and then rowed to one with whose captain he was acquainted.

“Captain Enkin,” he said, “I have brought on board two ladies who have long been in hiding, waiting an opportunity of being taken to Holland — the Countess Von Harp and her daughter. I fear greatly that Antwerp will fall today, and wish, therefore, to place them in safety before the fight begins. Before sunset, unless I am mistaken, you will have a crowd of fugitives on board.”

“I am very pleased, madam,” the captain said, bowing to the countess, “to receive you, and beg to hand over my cabin for your use. The name you bear is known to all Dutchmen; and even were it not so, anyone introduced to me by my good friend Captain Martin would be heartily welcome.

“Are you going to return on shore?” he asked Ned.

“Yes, I must do so,” Ned replied. “I promised the governor to stand by him to the last; and as he has scarce a soul on whom he can rely, it is clearly my duty to do so. It is not for me to shirk doing my duty as long as I can, because I fear that the day will go against us.”

“You will have difficulty in getting off again if the Spaniards once enter the city,” the captain said. “There will be such a rush to the boats that they will be swamped before they leave shore.”

“I have a boat hidden away in which I hope to bring off the governor with me,” Ned replied. “As to myself, I can swim like a fish.”

“Mind and get rid of your armour before you try it. All the swimming in the world could not save you if you jumped in with all that steel mail on you.”

“I will bear it in mind,” Ned said. “Goodbye, countess. Good-bye, Fraulein Gertrude. I trust to see you at nightfall, if not before.”

“That is a very gallant young officer,” Captain Enkin said as the two ladies sat watching Ned as he rowed to the shore.

“You addressed him as Captain Martin?” the countess said.

“Yes, he has been a captain in the prince's service fully three years,” the sailor said; “and fought nobly at Alkmaar, at the naval battle on the Zuider Zee, and in the sea fight when we drove Romero's fleet back in Bergen. He stands very high in the confidence of the prince, but I do not think he is in our service now. He is often with the prince, but I believe he comes and goes between England and Holland, and is, men say, the messenger by whom private communications between the queen of England and the prince are chiefly carried.”

“He is young to have such confidence reposed in him,” the countess said.

“Yes, he is young,” Captain Enkin replied. “Not, I suppose, beyond seven or eight and twenty. He was a captain and high in the prince's confidence when I first knew him three years ago, so he must surely have been four or five and twenty then; and yet, indeed, now you speak of it, methinks he is greatly bigger now than he was then. I do not think he was much taller than I am, and now he tops me by nigh a head. But I must surely be mistaken as to that, for the prince would scarcely place his confidence in a mere lad.”

The countess made no reply, though she exchanged a quiet smile with her daughter. They knew that Ned could not be much more than twenty. He was, he had said, about three years older than Gertrude, and she had passed seventeen but by a few months.

Ned, on returning to shore, tied up the boat, and then proceeded to the palace of the governor. A servant was holding a horse at the door.

“The governor ordered this horse to be ready and saddled for you, sir, when you arrived, and begged you to join him at once in the marketplace, where he is telling off the troops to their various stations.”

Leaping on the horse, Ned rode to the marketplace, and at once placed himself under orders of the governor.

“There is nothing much for you to do at present,” Champagny said. “The troops are all in their places, and we are ready when they deliver the assault.”

It was not until eleven o'clock that the Spaniards advanced to the attack — 3000 of them, under their Eletto, by the street of St. Michael; the remainder with the Germans, commanded by Romero, by that of St. George. No sooner did the compact masses approach the barricades than the Walloons, who had been so loud in their boasts of valour, and had insisted upon having the post of danger, broke and fled, their commander, Havre, at their head; and the Spaniards, springing over the ramparts, poured into the streets.

“Fetch up the Germans from the exchange!” Champagny shouted to Ned; and leaping his horse over a garden wall, he himself rode to another station and brought up the troops there, and led them in person to bar the road to the enemy, trying in vain to rally the flying Walloons he met on the way. For a few minutes the two parties of Germans made a brave stand; but they were unable to resist the weight and number of the Spaniards, who bore them down by sheer force. Champagny had fought gallantly in the melee, and Ned, keeping closely beside him, had well seconded his efforts; but when the Germans were borne down they rode off, dashing through the streets and shouting to the burghers everywhere to rise in defence of their homes.

They answered to the appeal. The bodies already collected at the exchange and cattle market moved forward, and from every house the men poured out. The Spanish columns had already divided, and were pouring down the streets with savage cries. The German cavalry of Havre under Van Eude at once deserted, and joining the Spanish cavalry fell upon the townsmen. In vain the burghers and such of the German infantry as remained faithful strove to resist their assailants. Although they had been beaten off in their assaults upon breaches, the Spaniards had ever proved themselves invincible on level ground; and now, inspired alike by the fury for slaughter and the lust for gold, there was no withstanding them.

Round the exchange some of the bravest defenders made a rally, and burghers and Germans, mingled together, fought stoutly until they were all slain.

There was another long struggle round the town hall, one of the most magnificent buildings in Europe; and for a time the resistance was effective, until the Spanish cavalry and the Germans under the traitor Van Eude charged down upon the defenders. Then they took refuge in the buildings, and every house became a fortress, and from window and balcony a hot fire was poured into the square. But now a large number of camp followers who had accompanied the Spaniards came up with torches, which had been specially prepared for firing the town, and in a short time the city hall and other edifices in the square were in flames.

The fire spread rapidly from house to house and from street to street, until nearly a thousand buildings in the most splendid and wealthy portion of the city were in a blaze.

In the street behind the town hall a last stand was made. Here the margrave of the city, the burgomasters, senators, soldiers, and citizens fought to the last, until not one remained to wield a sword. When resistance had ceased the massacre began. Women, children, and old men were killed in vast numbers, or driven into the river to drown there.

Then the soldiers scattered on the work of plunder. The flames had already snatched treasures estimated at six millions from their grasp, but there was still abundance for all. The most horrible tortures were inflicted upon men, women, and children to force them to reveal the hiding places, where they were supposed to have concealed their wealth, and for three days a pandemonium reigned in the city. Two thousand five hundred had been slain, double that number burned and drowned. These are the lowest estimates, many placing the killed at very much higher figures.

Champagny had fought very valiantly, joining any party of soldiers or citizens he saw making a defence. At last, when the town hall was in flames and all hope over, he said to Ned, who had kept throughout the day at his side: “It is no use throwing away our lives. Let us cut our way out of the city.”

“I have a boat lying in readiness at the bridge,” Ned said. “If we can once reach the stairs we can make our way off to the fleet.”

As they approached the river they saw a Spanish column crossing the street ahead of them. Putting spurs to their horses they galloped on at full speed, and bursting into it hewed their way through and continued their course, followed, however, by a number of Spanish infantry.

“These are the steps!” Ned exclaimed, leaping from his horse.

Champagny followed his example. The Spaniards were but twenty yards behind.

“If you pull on that rope attached to the ring a boat lying under the bridge will come to you,” Ned said. “I will keep them back till you are ready.”

Ned turned and faced the Spaniards, and for two or three minutes kept them at bay. His armour was good, and though many blows struck him he was uninjured, while several of the Spaniards fell under his sweeping blows. They fell back for a moment, surprised at his strength; and at this instant the governor called out that all was ready.

Ned turned and rushed down the steps. The governor was already in the boat. Ned leaped on board, and with a stroke of his sword severed the head rope. Before the leading Spaniards reached the bottom of the steps the boat was a length away. Ned seated himself, and seizing the oars rowed down the river. Several shots were fired at them from the bridge and wharves as they went, but they passed on uninjured. Ned rowed to the admiral's ship and left the governor there, and then rowed to that of Captain Enkin.

“Welcome back,” the captain said heartily. “I had begun to fear that ill had befallen you. A few fugitives came off at noon with the news that the Spaniards had entered the city and all was lost. Since then the roar of musketry, mingled with shouts and yells, has been unceasing, and that tremendous fire in the heart of the city told its own tale. For the last three hours the river has been full of floating corpses; and the countess and her daughter, who until then remained on deck, retired to pray in their cabin. The number of fugitives who have reached the ships is very small. Doubtless they crowded into such boats as there were and sank them. At any rate, but few have made their way out, and those chiefly at the beginning of the fight. Now we had best let the ladies know you are here, for they have been in the greatest anxiety about you.”

Ned went to the cabin door and knocked. “I have returned, countess.”

In a moment the door opened. “Welcome back, indeed, Captain Martin,” she said. “We had begun to fear that we should never see you again. Thankful indeed am I that you have escaped through this terrible day. Are you unhurt?” she asked, looking at his bruised and dented armour and at his clothes, which were splashed with blood.

“I have a few trifling cuts,” he replied, “but nothing worth speaking of. I am truly thankful, countess, that you and your daughter put off with me this morning.”

“Yes, indeed,” the countess said. “I shudder when I think what would have happened had we been there in the city. What a terrible sight it is!”

“It is, indeed,” Ned replied. The shades of night had now fallen, and over a vast space the flames were mounting high, and a pall of red smoke, interspersed with myriads of sparks and flakes of fire, hung over the captured city. Occasional discharges of guns were still heard, and the shrieks of women and the shouts of men rose in confused din. It was an immense relief to all on board when an hour later the admiral, fearing that the Spaniards might bring artillery to bear upon the fleet, ordered the anchors to be weighed, and the fleet to drop a few miles below the town.

After taking off his armour, washing the blood from his wounds and having them bound up, and attiring himself in a suit lent him by the captain until he should get to Delft, where he had left his valise, Ned partook of a good meal, for he had taken nothing but a manchet of bread and a cup of wine since the previous night. He then went into the cabin and spent the evening in conversation with the countess and her daughter, the latter of whom had changed since they had last met to the full as much as he had himself done. She had been a girl of fourteen — slim and somewhat tall for her age, and looking pale and delicate from the life of confinement and anxiety they had led at Brussels, and their still greater anxiety at Maastricht. She was now budding into womanhood. Her figure was lissome and graceful, her face was thoughtful and intelligent, and gave promise of rare beauty in another year or two. He learned that they had remained for a time in the village to which they had first gone, and had then moved to another a few miles away, and had there lived quietly in a small house placed at their disposal by one of their friends. Here they had remained unmolested until two months before, when the excesses committed throughout the country by the mutinous soldiery rendered it unsafe for anyone to live outside the walls of the town. They then removed to Antwerp, where there was far more religious toleration than at Brussels; and the countess had resumed her own name, though still living in complete retirement in the house in which Ned had so fortunately found her.

“The times have altered me for the better,” the countess said. “The Spaniards have retired from that part of Friesland where some of my estates are situated, and those to whom Alva granted them have had to fly. I have a faithful steward there, and since they have left he has collected the rents and has remitted to me such portions as I required, sending over the rest to England to the charge of a banker there. As it may be that the Spaniards will again sweep over Friesland, where they still hold some of the principal towns, I thought it best, instead of having my money placed in Holland, where no one can foresee the future, to send it to England, where at least one can find a refuge and a right to exercise our religion.”

“I would that you would go there at once, countess; for surely at present Holland is no place for two unprotected ladies. Nothing would give my mother greater pleasure than to receive you until you can find a suitable home for yourselves. My sisters are but little older than your daughter, and would do all in their power to make her at home. They too speak your language, and there are thousands of your compatriots in London.”

“What do you say, Gertrude?” the countess asked. “But I know that your mind has been so long made up that it is needless to question you.”

“Yes, indeed, mother, I would gladly go away anywhere from here, where for the last six years there has been nothing but war and bloodshed. If we could go back and live in Friesland among our own people in safety and peace I should be delighted to do so, but this country is as strange to us as England would be. Our friends stand aloof from us, and we are ever in fear either of persecution or murder by the Spanish soldiers. I should be so glad to be away from it all; and, as Captain Martin says, there are so many of our own people in London, that it would scarce feel a strange land to us.”

“You have said over and over again that you would gladly go if you could get away, and now that we can do so, surely it will be better and happier for us than to go on as we have done. Of course it would be better in Holland than it has been here for the last four years, because we should be amongst Protestants; but we should be still exposed to the dangers of invasion and the horrors of sieges.”

“It is as my daughter says, Captain Martin; our thoughts have long been turning to England as a refuge. In the early days of the troubles I had thought of France, where so many of our people went, but since St. Bartholomew it has been but too evident that there is neither peace nor safety for those of the religion there, and that in England alone can we hope to be permitted to worship unmolested. Therefore, now that the chance is open to us, we will not refuse it. I do not say that we will cross at once. We have many friends at Rotterdam and Delft, and the prince held my husband in high esteem in the happy days before the troubles; therefore I shall tarry there for a while, but it will be for a time only. It will not be long before the Spanish again resume their war of conquest; besides, we are sick of the tales of horror that come to us daily, and long for calm and tranquillity, which we cannot hope to obtain in Holland. Had I a husband or brothers I would share their fate whatever it was, but being alone and unable to aid the cause in any way it would be folly to continue here and endure trials and risks. You say that you come backwards and forwards often, well then in two months we shall be ready to put ourselves under your protection and to sail with you for England.”

The next morning the admiral despatched a ship to Rotterdam with the news of the fate of Antwerp, and Ned obtained a passage in her for himself, the ladies, and servant, and on arriving at Rotterdam saw them bestowed in comfortable lodgings. He then, after an interview with the prince, went on board a ship just leaving for England, and upon his arrival reported to the minister, and afterwards to the queen herself, the terrible massacre of which he had been a witness in Antwerp.

The Spanish fury, as the sack of Antwerp was termed, vastly enriched the soldiers, but did small benefit to the cause of Spain. The attack was wanton and unprovoked. Antwerp had not risen in rebellion against Philip, but had been attacked solely for the sake of plunder; and all Europe was shocked at the atrocities that had taken place, and at the slaughter, which was even greater than the massacre in Paris on the eve of St. Bartholomew. The queen remonstrated in indignant terms, the feeling among the Protestants in Germany was equally strong, and even in France public feeling condemned the act.

In the Netherlands the feeling of horror and indignation was universal. The fate that had befallen Antwerp might be that of any other sister city. Everywhere petitions were signed in favour of the unity of all the Netherlands under the Prince of Orange. Philip's new governor, Don John, had reached the Netherlands on the very day of the sack of Antwerp, and endeavoured to allay the storm of indignation it had excited by various concessions; but the feeling of unity, and with it of strength, had grown so rapidly that the demands of the commissioners advanced in due proportion, and they insisted upon nothing less than the restoration of their ancient constitution, the right to manage their internal affairs, and the departure of all the Spanish troops from the country.

Don John parleyed and parried the demands, and months were spent in unprofitable discussions, while all the time he was working secretly among the nobles of Brabant and Flanders, who were little disposed to see with complacency the triumph of the democracy of the towns and the establishment of religious toleration. Upon all other points Don John and his master were ready to yield. The Spanish troops were sent away to Italy, the Germans only being retained. The constitutional rights would all have been conceded, but on the question of religious tolerance Philip stood firm. At last, seeing that no agreement would ever be arrived at, both parties prepared again for war.

The Queen of England had lent 100,000 pounds on the security of the cities, and the pause in hostilities during the negotiations had not been altogether wasted in Holland. There had been a municipal insurrection in Amsterdam; the magistrates devoted to Philip had been driven out, and to the great delight of Holland, Amsterdam, its capital, that had long been a stronghold of the enemy, a gate through which he could at will pour his forces, was restored to it. In Antwerp, and several other of the cities of Brabant and Flanders, the citizens razed the citadels by which they had been overawed; men, women, and children uniting in the work, tearing down and carrying away the stones of the fortress, that had worked them such evil.

Antwerp had at the departure of the Spanish troops been again garrisoned by Germans, who had remained inactive during this exhibition of the popular will. The Prince of Orange himself had paid a visit to the city, and had, at the invitation of Brussels, proceeded there, and had received an enthusiastic reception, and for a time it seemed that the plans for which so many years he had struggled were at last to be crowned with success. But his hopes were frustrated by the treachery of the nobles and the cowardice of the army the patriots had engaged in their service.

Many of the Spanish troops had been secretly brought back again, and Don John was preparing for a renewal of war.

Unknown to the Prince of Orange, numbers of the nobles had invited the Archduke Mathias, brother of the Emperor Rudolph of Germany, to assume the government. Mathias, without consultation with his brother, accepted the invitation and journeyed privately to the Netherlands. Had the Prince of Orange declared against him he must at once have returned to Vienna, but this would have aroused the anger of the emperor and the whole of Germany. Had the prince upon the other hand abandoned the field and retired into Holland, he would have played into the hands of his adversaries. Accordingly he received Mathias at Antwerp with great state, and the archduke was well satisfied to place himself in the hands of the most powerful man in the country.

The prince's position was greatly strengthened by the queen instructing her ministers to inform the envoy of the Netherlands that she would feel compelled to withdraw all succour of the states if the Prince of Orange was deprived of his leadership, as it was upon him alone that she relied for success. The prince was thereupon appointed Ruward of Brabant, a position almost analogous to that of dictator. Ghent, which was second only in importance to Antwerp, rose almost immediately, turned out the Catholic authorities, and declared in favour of the prince. A new act of union was signed at Brussels, and the Estates General passed a resolution declaring Don John to be no longer governor or stadtholder of the Netherlands. The Prince of Orange was appointed lieutenant general for Mathias, and the actual power of the latter was reduced to a nullity, but he was installed at Brussels with the greatest pomp and ceremony.

Don John, who had by this time collected an army of 20,000 veterans at Namur, and had been joined by the Prince of Parma, a general of great vigour and ability, now marched against the army of the Estates, of which the command had been given to the nobles of the country in the hope of binding them firmly to the national cause.

The patriot army fell back before that of the Spaniards, but were soon engaged by a small body of cavalry. Alexander of Parma came up with some 1200 horse, dashed boldly across a dangerous swamp, and fell upon their flank. The Estates cavalry at once turned and fled, and Parma then fell upon the infantry, and in the course of an hour not only defeated but almost exterminated them, from 7000 to 8000 being killed, and 600 taken prisoners, the latter being executed without mercy by Don John. The loss of the Spaniards was only about ten men. This extraordinary disproportion of numbers, and the fact that 1200 men so easily defeated a force ten times more numerous, completely dashed to the ground the hopes of the Netherlands, and showed how utterly incapable were its soldiers of contending in the field with the veterans of Spain.

The battle was followed by the rapid reduction of a large number of towns, most of which surrendered without resistance as soon as the Spanish troops approached. In the meantime the Estates had assembled another army, which was joined by one composed of 12,000 Germans under Duke Casimir. Both armies were rendered inactive by want of funds, and the situation was complicated by the entry of the Duke of Alencon, the brother of the King of France, into the Netherlands. Don John, the hero of the battle of Lepanto, who had shown himself on many battlefields to be at once a great commander and a valiant soldier, was prostrate by disease, brought on by vexation, partly at the difficulties he had met with since his arrival in the Netherlands, partly at the neglect of Spain to furnish him with money with which he could set his army, now numbering 30,000, in motion, and sweep aside all resistance. At this critical moment his malady increased, and after a week's illness he expired, just two years after his arrival in the Netherlands.

He was succeeded at first temporarily and afterwards permanently by Alexander of Parma, also a great commander, and possessing far greater resolution than his unfortunate predecessor.

The two years had been spent by Edward Martin in almost incessant journeyings between London and the Netherlands. He now held, however, a position much superior to that which he had formerly occupied. The queen, after hearing from him his account of the sack of Antwerp and his share in the struggle, had said to the Secretary, “I think that it is only just that we should bestow upon Captain Martin some signal mark of our approbation at the manner in which he has for two years devoted himself to our service, and that without pay or reward, but solely from his loyalty to our person, and from his goodwill towards the state. Kneel, Captain Martin.”

The queen took the sword that Walsingham handed to her, and said, “Rise, Sir Edward Martin. You will draw out, Mr. Secretary, our new knight's appointment as our special envoy to the Prince of Orange; and see that he has proper appointments for such a post. His duties will, as before, be particular to myself and the prince, and will not clash in any way with those of our envoy at the Hague.”

The delight of Ned's mother and sisters when he returned home and informed them of the honour that the queen had been pleased to bestow upon him was great indeed. His father said:

“Well, Ned, I must congratulate you with the others; though I had hoped to make a sailor of you. However, circumstances have been too much for me. I own that you have been thrust into this work rather by fortune than design; and as it is so I am heartily glad that you have succeeded. It seems strange to me that my boy should have become Sir Edward Martin, an officer in the service of her majesty, and I say frankly that just at present I would rather that it had been otherwise. But I suppose I shall get accustomed to it in time, and assuredly none but myself will doubt for a moment that you have gained greatly by all this honour and dignity.”

Queen Elizabeth, although in some respects parsimonious in the extreme, was liberal to her favourites, and the new made knight stood high in her liking. She loved to have good looking men about her; and without being actually handsome, Ned Martin, with his height and breadth of shoulder, his easy and upright carriage, his frank, open face and sunny smile, was pleasant to look upon. He had served her excellently for two years, had asked for no rewards or favours, but had borne himself modestly, and been content to wait. Therefore the queen was pleased to order her treasurer to issue a commission to Sir Edward Martin, as her majesty's special envoy to the Prince of Orange, with such appointments as would enable him handsomely to support his new dignity and his position as her representative.

Even Captain Martin was now bound to confess that Ned had gained profit as well as honour. He did indeed warn his son not to place too much confidence in princes; but Ned replied, “I do not think the queen is fickle in her likes and dislikes, father. But I rely not upon this, but on doing my duty to the state for further employment. I have had extraordinary good fortune, too; and have, without any merit save that of always doing my best, mounted step by step from the deck of the Good Venture to knighthood and employment by the state. The war appears to me to be as far from coming to an end as it did six years ago; and if I continue to acquit myself to the satisfaction of the lord treasurer and council, I hope that at its conclusion I may be employed upon such further work as I am fitted for.”

“You speak rightly, Ned; and I am wrong to feel anxiety about your future when you have already done so well. And now, Ned, you had best go into the city and order from some tailor who supplies the court such suits as are fitting to your new rank. The queen loves brave dresses and bright colours, and you must cut as good a figure as the rest. You have been somewhat of an expense to me these last two years; but that is over now, and I can well afford the additional outlay to start you worthily. What was good enough for Captain Martin is not good enough for Sir Edward Martin; therefore stint not expense in any way. I should not like that you should not hold your own with the young fops of the court.”

It was well that Ned had provided himself with a new outfit, for he was not sent abroad again for more than a month, and during that time he was almost daily at court, receiving from the royal chamberlain a notification that the queen expected to see him at all entertainments. At the first of these Lord Walsingham introduced him to many of the young nobles of the court, speaking very highly of the services he had rendered; and as the queen was pleased to speak often to him and to show him marked favour, he was exceedingly well received, and soon found himself at ease.

He was, nevertheless, glad when the order came for him to proceed again to Holland with messages to the Prince of Orange. Upon his arrival there he was warmly congratulated by the prince.

“You have well earned your rank,” the prince said. “I take some pride to myself in having so soon discovered that you had good stuff in you. There are some friends of yours here who will be glad to hear of the honour that has befallen you. The Countess Von Harp and her daughter have been here for the last six weeks. I have seen them several times, and upon each occasion they spoke to me of their gratitude for the services you have rendered them. One of my pages will show you where they are lodging. They are about to proceed to England, and I think their decision is a wise one, for this country is at present no place for unprotected women.”

The countess and her daughter were alike surprised and pleased when Ned was announced as Sir Edward Martin. And when a fortnight later Ned sailed for England, they took passage in the same ship. Ned had sent word to his mother by a vessel that sailed a week previously that they would arrive with him, and the best room in the house had been got in readiness for them, and they received a hearty welcome from Ned's parents and sisters. They stayed a fortnight there and then established themselves in a pretty little house in the village of Dulwich. One of Ned's sisters accompanied them to stay for a time as Gertrude's friend and companion.

Whenever Ned returned home he was a frequent visitor at Dulwich, and at the end of two years his sisters were delighted but not surprised when he returned one day and told them that Gertrude Von Harp had accepted him. The marriage was not to take place for a time; for Ned was still young, and the countess thought it had best be delayed. She was now receiving a regular income from her estates; for it had been a time of comparative peace in Holland, and that country was increasing fast in wealth and prosperity.

Alexander of Parma had by means of his agents corrupted the greater part of the nobility of Flanders and Brabant, had laid siege to Maastricht, and, after a defence even more gallant and desperate than that of Haarlem, and several terrible repulses of his soldiers, had captured the city and put the greater part of its inhabitants — men and women — to the sword. After vain entreaties to Elizabeth to assume the sovereignty of the Netherlands, this had been offered to the Duke of Anjou, brother of the King of France.

The choice appeared to be a politic one, for Anjou was at the time the all but accepted suitor of Queen Elizabeth, and it was thought that the choice would unite both powers in defence of Holland. The duke, however, speedily proved his incapacity. Irritated at the smallness of the authority granted him, and the independent attitude of the great towns, he attempted to capture them by force. He was successful in several places; but at Antwerp, where the French thought to repeat the Spanish success and to sack the city, the burghers gathered so strongly and fiercely that the French troops employed were for the most part killed, those who survived being ignominiously taken prisoners.

Anjou retired with his army, losing a large number of men on his retreat by the bursting of a dyke and the flooding of the country. By this time the Prince of Orange had accepted the sovereignty of Holland and Zeeland, which was now completely separated from the rest of the Netherlands. After the flight of Anjou he received many invitations from the other provinces to accept their sovereignty; but he steadily refused, having no personal ambition, and knowing well that no reliance whatever could be placed upon the nobles of Brabant and Flanders

CHAPTER XXI. THE SIEGE OF ANTWERP

On the 10th of July, 1584, a deep gloom was cast over all Holland and England, by the assassination of the Prince of Orange. Many attempts had been made upon his life by paid agents of the King of Spain. One had been nearly successful, and the prince had lain for weeks almost at the point of death. At last the hatred of Philip and Parma gained its end, and the prince fell a victim to the bullet of an assassin, who came before him disguised as a petitioner. His murderer was captured, and put to death with horrible tortures, boasting of his crime to the last. It was proved beyond all question that he, as well as the authors of the previous attempts, was acting at the instigation of the Spanish authorities, and had been promised vast sums in the event of his success.

Thus died the greatest statesman of his age; a pure patriot, a disinterested politician, a great orator, a man possessing at once immense talent, unbounded perseverance, a fortitude under misfortunes beyond proof, and an unshakeable faith in God. But terrible as was the blow to the Netherlands, it failed to have the effect which its instigators had hoped from it. On the very day of the murder the Estates of Holland, then sitting at Delft, passed a resolution “to maintain the good cause, with God's help, to the uttermost, without sparing gold or blood.” The prince's eldest son had been kidnapped from school in Leyden by Philip's orders, and had been a captive in Spain for seventeen years under the tutorship of the Jesuits. Maurice, the next son, now seventeen years old, was appointed head of the States Council.

But the position of the Netherlands was still well nigh desperate. Flanders and Brabant lay at the feet of the Spaniards. A rising which had lately taken place had been crushed. Bruges had surrendered without a blow. The Duke of Parma, with 18,000 troops, besides his garrisons, was threatening Ghent, Mechlin, Brussels, and Antwerp, and was freely using promises and bribery to induce them to surrender. Dendermonde and Vilvoorde both opened their gates, the capitulation of the latter town cutting the communication between Brussels and Antwerp. Ghent followed the example and surrendered without striking a blow, and at the moment of the assassination of the Prince of Orange Parma's army was closing round Antwerp.

Sir Edward Martin was at Antwerp, where he had gone by the queen's order, when he received the news of the murder of the prince, whom he had seen a few days before. He was filled with grief and horror at the loss of one who had been for six years his friend, and whom he regarded with enthusiastic admiration. It seemed to him at first that with the death of the prince the cause of the Netherlands was lost, and had the former attempts of Philip's emissaries upon the prince's life been successful such a result would no doubt have followed; but the successful defence of their cities, and the knowledge they had gained that the sea could be made to fight for them, had given the people of Holland strength and hope. Their material resources, too, were larger than before, for great numbers of the Protestants from the other provinces had emigrated there, and had added alike to their strength and wealth. At first, however, the news caused something like despair in Antwerp. Men went about depressed and sorrowful, as if they had lost their dearest friend; but Sainte Aldegonde, who had been appointed by the prince to take charge of the defence of Antwerp, encouraged the citizens, and their determination to resist returned. Unfortunately there had already been terrible blundering. William de Blois, Lord of Treslong and Admiral of the fleet of Holland and Zeeland, had been ordered to carry up to the city provisions and munitions of war sufficient to last for a year, the money having been freely voted by the States General of these provinces.

But Treslong disobeyed the orders, and remained week after week at Ostend drinking heavily and doing nothing else. At last the States, enraged at his disobedience, ordered him to be arrested and thrown into prison; but this was too late to enable the needed stores to be taken up to Antwerp. The citizens were under no uneasiness. They believed that it was absolutely impossible to block the river, and that, therefore, they could at all times receive supplies from the coast. On both sides of the river below the town the land was low and could at any time be laid under water, and Sainte Aldegonde brought the Prince of Orange's instructions that the great dyke, called Blauwgaren, was to be pierced. This would have laid the country under water for miles, and even the blocking of the river would not have prevented the arrival of ships with provisions and supplies.

Unfortunately Sainte Aldegonde's power was limited. The Butchers' Guild rose against the proposal, and their leaders appeared before the magistrates and protested against the step being carried out. Twelve thousand cattle grazed upon the pastures which would be submerged, and the destruction of farms, homesteads, and orchards would be terrible. As to the blocking up of the river, the idea was absurd, and the operation far beyond the power of man. The butchers were supported by the officers of the militia, who declared that were the authorities to attempt the destruction of the dyke the municipal soldiery would oppose it by force.

Such was the state of things when the only man whom the democracy would listen to and obey fell by the assassin's knife, and his death and the obstinate stupidity of the burghers of Antwerp sealed the fate of the city. Sainte Aldegonde had hailed the arrival of Elizabeth's envoy, and consulted with him as to the steps to be taken for the defence of the city. He himself did not believe in the possibility of the river being stopped. It was nearly half a mile in width and sixty feet in depth, with a tidal rise and fall of eleven feet. Ned agreed with the governor or burgomaster — for this was Saint Aldegonde's title — that the work of blocking this river seemed impossible, but his reliance upon the opinion of the prince was so great that he did what he could towards persuading the populace to permit the plans to be carried out. But Elizabeth had so often disappointed the people of the Netherlands that her envoy possessed no authority, and the magistrates, with whom were the ward masters, the deans of all the guilds, the presidents of chambers and heads of colleges, squabbled and quarrelled among themselves, and nothing was done.

The garrison consisted only of a regiment of English under Colonel Morgan and a Scotch regiment under Colonel Balfour, but these were in a state of indiscipline, and a mutiny had shortly before broken out among them. Many of the troops had deserted to Parma and some had returned home, and it was not until Morgan had beheaded Captain Lee and Captain Powell that order was restored among them. Beside these were the burgher militia, who were brave and well trained, but insubordinate, and ready on every occasion to refuse obedience to authority.

The first result of the general confusion which prevailed in Antwerp was that Herenthals was allowed to fall without assistance. Had this small but important city been succoured it would have enabled Antwerp to protract its own defence for some time.

The veteran Mondragon as he took possession remarked, “Now it is easy to see that the Prince of Orange is dead;” and indeed it was only under his wise supervision and authority that anything like concerted action between the cities, which were really small republics, was possible.

Quietly but steadily the Duke of Parma established fortified posts at various points on both banks of the Lower Scheldt, thereby rendering its navigation more difficult, and covering in some degree the spot where he intended to close the river. Nine miles below the city were two forts — Lillo and Liefkenshoek — one on either side of the stream. The fortifications of Lillo was complete, but those of Liefkenshoek were not finished when Parma ordered the Marquis of Richebourg to carry it by assault. It was taken by surprise, and the eight hundred men who composed its garrison were all killed or drowned. This first blow took place on the very day the Prince of Orange was killed.

Lillo was garrisoned by Antwerp volunteers, called the Young Bachelors, together with a company of French under Captain Gascoigne, and 400 Scotch and Englishmen under Colonel Morgan. Mondragon was ordered to take the place at any cost. He took up his position with 5000 men at the country house and farm of Lillo a short distance from the fort, planted his batteries and opened fire. The fort responded briskly, and finding that the walls were little injured by his artillery fire Mondragon tried to take it by mining. Teligny, however, ran counter mines, and for three weeks the siege continued, the Spaniards gaining no advantage and losing a considerable number of men. At last Teligny made a sortie, and a determined action took place without advantage on either side. The defenders were then recalled to the fort, the sluice gates were opened, and the waters of the Scheldt, swollen by a high tide, poured over the country. Swept by the fire of the guns of the fort and surrounded by water, the Spaniards were forced to make a rapid retreat, struggling breast high in the waves.

Seeing the uselessness of the siege, the attempt to capture Lillo was abandoned, having cost the Spaniards no less than two thousand lives. Parma's own camp was on the opposite side of the river, at the villages of Beveren, Kalloo, and Borght, and he was thus nearly opposite to Antwerp, as the river swept round with a sharp curve. He had with him half his army, while the rest were at Stabroek on the opposite side of the river, nearly ten miles below Antwerp. Kallo stood upon rising ground, and was speedily transformed into a bustling town. From this point an army of men dug a canal to Steeken, a place on the river above Antwerp twelve miles from Kalloo, and as soon as Ghent and Dendermonde had fallen, great rafts of timber, fleets of boats laden with provisions, munitions, building materials, and every other requisite for the great undertaking Parma had in view were brought to Kalloo.

To this place was brought also by Parma's orders the shipwrights, masons, ropemakers, sailors, boatmen, bakers, brewers, and butchers of Flanders and Brabant, and work went on unceasingly. But while the autumn wore on the river was still open; and in spite of the Spanish batteries on the banks the daring sailors of Zeeland brought up their ships laden with corn to Antwerp, where the price was already high. Had this traffic been continued Antwerp would soon have been provisioned for a year's siege; but the folly and stupidity of the municipal authorities put a stop to it, for they enacted that, instead of the high prices current for grain, which had tempted the Zeelanders to run the gauntlet of the Spanish batteries, a price but little above that obtainable in other places should be given. The natural result was, the supply of provisions ceased at once.

“Did you ever see anything like the obstinacy and folly of these burghers?” Sainte Aldegonde said in despair to Ned, when, in spite of his entreaties, this suicidal edict had been issued. “What possible avail is it to endeavour to defend a city which seems bent on its own destruction?”

“The best thing to do,” Ned replied in great anger, “would be to surround the town hall with the companies of Morgan's regiment remaining here, and to hang every one of these thick headed and insolent tradesmen.”

“It would be the best way,” Sainte Aldegonde agreed, “if we had also a sufficient force to keep down the city. These knaves think vastly more of their own privileges than of the good of the State, or even of the safety of the town. Here, as in Ghent, the people are divided into sections and parties, who, when there is no one else to quarrel with, are ever ready to fly at each other's throats. Each of these leaders of guilds and presidents of chambers considers himself a little god, and it is quite enough if anyone else expresses an opinion for the majority to take up at once the opposite view.”

“I looked in at the town hall yesterday,” Ned said, “and such an uproar was going on that no one could be heard to speak. Twenty men were on their feet at once, shouting and haranguing, and paying not the slightest attention to each other; while the rest joined in from time to time with deafening cries and yells. Never did I see such a scene. And it is upon such men as these that it rests to decide upon the measures to be taken for the safety of the city!”

“Ah, if we had but the prince here among us again for a few hours there would be some hope,” Sainte Aldegonde said; “for he would be able to persuade the people that in times like these there is no safety in many counsellors, but that they must be content for the time to obey one man.”

On the Flemish side of the river the sluices had been opened at Saftingen. The whole country there, with the exception of the ground on which Kalloo and the other villages stood, was under water. Still the Blauwgaren dyke, and an inner dyke called the Kowenstyn, barred back the water, which, had it free course, would have turned the country into a sea and given passage to the fleets of Zeeland. Now that it was too late, those who had so fiercely opposed the plan at first were eager that these should be cut. But it was now out of their power to do so. The Lord of Kowenstyn, who had a castle on the dyke which bore his name, had repeatedly urged upon the Antwerp magistracy the extreme importance of cutting through this dyke, even if they deferred the destruction of the outer one. Enraged at their obstinacy and folly, and having the Spanish armies all round him, he made terms with Parma, and the Spaniards established themselves firmly along the bank, built strong redoubts upon it, and stationed five thousand men there.

As the prince had foreseen, the opening of the Saftingen sluice had assisted Parma instead of adding to his difficulties; for he was now no longer confined to the canal, but was able to bring a fleet of large vessels, laden with cannon and ammunition, from Ghent down the Scheldt, and in through a breach through the dyke of Borght to Kalloo. Sainte Aldegonde, in order to bar the Borght passage, built a work called Fort Teligny upon the dyke, opposite that thrown up by the Spaniards, and in the narrow passage between them constant fighting went on between the Spaniards and patriots. Still the people of Antwerp felt confident, for the Scheldt was still open, and when food became short the Zeeland fleet could at any time sail up to their assistance. But before winter closed in Parma commenced the work for which he had made such mighty preparations.

Between Kalloo and Oordam, on the opposite side, a sand bar had been discovered, which somewhat diminished the depth of the stream and rendered pile driving comparatively easy. A strong fort was erected on each bank and the work of driving in the piles began. From each side a framework of heavy timber, supported on these massive piles, was carried out so far that the width of open water was reduced from twenty-four to thirteen hundred feet, and strong blockhouses were erected upon each pier to protect them from assault. Had a concerted attack been made by the Antwerp ships from above, and the Zeeland fleet from below, the works could at this time have been easily destroyed. But the fleet had been paralyzed by the insubordination of Treslong, and there was no plan or concert; so that although constant skirmishing went on, no serious attack was made.

The brave Teligny, one night going down in a rowboat to communicate with the Zeelanders and arrange for joint action, was captured by the Spanish boats, and remained for six years in prison. His loss was a very serious blow to Antwerp and to the cause. On the 13th of November Parma sent in a letter to Antwerp, begging the citizens to take compassion on their wives and children and make terms. Parma had none of the natural bloodthirstiness of Alva, and would have been really glad to have arranged matters without further fighting; especially as he was almost without funds, and the attitude of the King of France was so doubtful that he knew that at any moment his plans might be overthrown.

The States in January attempted to make a diversion in favour of Antwerp by attacking Bois le Duc, a town from which the Spaniards drew a large portion of their supplies. Parma, although feeling the extreme importance of this town, had been able to spare no men for its defence; and although it was strong, and its burghers notably brave and warlike, it seemed that it might be readily captured by surprise. Count Hohenlohe was entrusted with the enterprise, and with 4000 infantry and 200 cavalry advanced towards the place. Fifty men, under an officer who knew the town, hid at night near the gate, and when in the morning the portcullis was lifted, rushed in, overpowered the guard, and threw open the gate, and Hohenlohe, with his 200 troopers and 500 pikemen, entered.

These at once, instead of securing the town, scattered to plunder. It happened that forty Spanish lancers and thirty foot soldiers had come into the town the night before to form an escort for a convoy of provisions. They were about starting when the tumult broke out. As Hohenlohe's troops thought of nothing but pillage, time was given to the burghers to seize their arms; and they, with the little body of troops, fell upon the plunderers, who, at the sight of the Spanish uniforms, were seized with a panic. Hohenlohe galloped to the gate to bring in the rest of the troops; but while he was away one of its guards, although desperately wounded at its capture, crawled to the ropes which held up the portcullis and cut them with his knife. Thus those within were cut off from their friends. Many of them were killed, others threw themselves from the walls into the moat, and very few of those who had entered made their escape.

When Hohenlohe returned with 2000 fresh troops and found the gates shut in his face, he had nothing to do but to ride away, the enterprise having failed entirely through his own folly and recklessness; for it was he himself who had encouraged his followers to plunder. Had he kept them together until the main force entered, no resistance could have been offered to him, or had he when he rode out to fetch reinforcements left a guard at the gate to prevent its being shut, the town could again have been taken. Parma himself wrote to Philip acknowledging that “Had the rebels succeeded in their enterprise, I should have been compelled to have abandoned the siege of Antwerp.”

But now the winter, upon which the people in Antwerp had chiefly depended for preventing the blocking of the stream, was upon the besiegers. The great river, lashed by storms into fury, and rolling huge masses of ice up and down with the tide, beat against the piers, and constantly threatened to carry them away. But the structure was enormously strong. The piles had been driven fifty feet into the river bed, and withstood the force of the stream, and on the 25th of February the Scheldt was closed.

Parma had from the first seen that it was absolutely impossible to drive piles across the deep water between the piers, and had prepared to connect them with a bridge of boats. For this purpose he had constructed thirty-two great barges, each sixty-two feet in length, and twelve in breadth. These were moored in pairs with massive chains and anchors, the distance between each pair being twenty-two feet. All were bound together with chains and timbers and a roadway protected by a parapet of massive beams was formed across it. Each boat was turned into a fortress by the erection of solid wooden redoubts at each end, mounting heavy guns, and was manned by thirty-two soldiers and four sailors. The forts at the end of the bridge each mounted ten great guns, and twenty armed vessels with heavy pieces of artillery were moored in front of each fort. Thus the structure was defended by 170 great guns.

As an additional protection to the bridge, two heavy rafts, each 1250 feet long, composed of empty barrels, heavy timbers, ships' masts, and woodwork bound solidly together, were moored at some little distance above and below the bridge of boats. These rafts were protected by projecting beams of wood tipped with iron, to catch any vessels floating down upon them. The erection of this structure was one of the most remarkable military enterprises ever carried out.

Now that it was too late the people of Antwerp bitterly bewailed their past folly, which had permitted an enterprise that could at any moment have been interrupted to be carried to a successful issue.

But if something like despair seized the citizens at the sight of the obstacle that cut them off from all hope of succour, the feelings of the great general whose enterprise and ability had carried out the work were almost as depressed. His troops had dwindled to the mere shadow of an army, the cavalry had nearly disappeared, the garrisons in the various cities were starving, and the burghers had no food either for the soldiers or themselves.

The troops were two years behindhand in their pay. Parma had long exhausted every means of credit, and his appeals to his sovereign for money met with no response. But while in his letters to Philip he showed the feelings of despair which possessed him, he kept a smiling countenance to all else. A spy having been captured, he ordered him to be conducted over every part of the encampment. The forts and bridge were shown to him, and he was requested to count the pieces of artillery, and was then sent back to the town to inform the citizens of what he had seen.

At this moment Brussels, which had long been besieged, was starved into surrender, and Parma was reinforced by the troops who had been engaged in the siege of that city. A misfortune now befell him similar to that which the patriots had suffered at Bois le Duc. He had experienced great inconvenience from not possessing a port on the sea coast of Flanders, and consented to a proposal of La Motte, one of the most experienced of the Walloon generals, to surprise Ostend. On the night of the 29th of March, La Motte, with 2000 foot and 1200 cavalry, surprised and carried the old port of the town. Leaving an officer in charge of the position, he went back to bring up the rest of his force. In his absence the soldiers scattered to plunder. The citizens roused themselves, killed many of them, and put the rest to flight, and by the time La Motte returned with the fresh troops the panic had become so general that the enterprise had to be abandoned.

The people of Antwerp now felt that unless some decisive steps were taken their fate was sealed. A number of armed vessels sailed up from Zeeland, and, assisted by a detachment from Fort Lillo, suddenly attacked and carried Fort Liefkenshoek, which had been taken from them at the commencement of the siege, and also Fort St. Anthony lower down the river. In advancing towards the latter fort they disobeyed Sainte Aldegonde's express orders, which were that they should, after capturing Liefkenshoek, at once follow the dyke up the river to the point where it was broken near the fort at the end of the bridge, and should there instantly throw up strong works.

Had they followed out these orders they could from this point have battered the bridge, and destroyed this barrier over the river. But the delay caused by the attack on the Fort St. Anthony was fatal, for at night Parma sent a strong body of soldiers and sappers in boats from Kalloo to the broken end of the dyke, and these before morning threw up works upon the very spot where Sainte Aldegonde had intended the battery for the destruction of the bridge to be erected. Nevertheless the success was a considerable one. The possession of Lillo and Liefkenshoek restored to the patriots the command of the river to within three miles of the bridge, and enabled the Zeeland fleet to be brought up at that point.

Another blow was now meditated. There was in Antwerp an Italian named Gianobelli, a man of great science and inventive power. He had first gone to Spain to offer his inventions to Philip, but had met with such insolent neglect there that he had betaken himself in a rage to Flanders, swearing that the Spaniards should repent their treatment of him. He had laid his plans before the Council of Antwerp, and had asked from them three ships of a hundred and fifty, three hundred and fifty, and five hundred tons respectively, besides these he wanted sixty flat bottomed scows. Had this request been complied with it is certain that Parma's bridge would have been utterly destroyed; but the leading men were building a great ship or floating castle of their own design, from which they expected such great things that they christened it the End of the War. Gianobelli had warned them that this ship would certainly turn out a failure. However, they persisted, and instead of granting him the ships he wanted, only gave him two small vessels of seventy and eighty tons.

Although disgusted with their parsimony on so momentous an occasion, Gianobelli set to work with the aid of two skilful artisans of Antwerp to fit them up.

In the hold of each vessel a solid flooring of brick and mortar a foot thick was first laid down. Upon this was built a chamber of masonry forty feet long, three and a half feet wide, and as many high, and with side walls five feet thick. This chamber was covered with a roof six feet thick of tombstones placed edgeways, and was filled with a powder of Gianobelli's own invention. Above was piled a pyramid of millstones, cannonballs, chain shot, iron hooks, and heavy missiles of all kinds, and again over these were laid heavy marble slabs. The rest of the hold was filled with paving stones.

One ship was christened the Fortune, and on this the mine was to be exploded by a slow match, cut so as to explode at a calculated moment. The mine on board the Hope was to be started by a piece of clockwork, which at the appointed time was to strike fire from a flint. Planks and woodwork were piled on the decks to give to the two vessels the appearance of simple fireships. Thirty-two small craft, saturated with tar and turpentine and filled with inflammable materials, were to be sent down the river in detachments of eight every half hour, to clear away if possible the raft above the bridge and to occupy the attention of the Spaniards.

The 5th of April, the day after the capture of the Liefkenshoek, was chosen for the attempt. It began badly. Admiral Jacobzoon, who was in command, instead of sending down the fireboats in batches as arranged, sent them all off one after another, and started the two mine ships immediately afterwards. As soon as their approach was discovered, the Spaniards, who had heard vague rumours that an attack by water was meditated, at once got under arms and mustered upon the bridge and forts. Parma himself, with all his principal officers, superintended the arrangements. As the fleet of small ships approached they burst into flames. The Spaniards silently watched the approaching danger, but soon began to take heart again. Many of the boats grounded on the banks of the river before reaching their destination, others burned out and sank, while the rest drifted against the raft, but were kept from touching it by the long projecting timbers, and burned out without doing any damage.

Then came the two ships. The pilots as they neared the bridge escaped in boats, and the current carried them down, one on each side of the raft, towards the solid ends of the bridge. The Fortune came first, but grounded near the shore without touching the bridge. Just as it did so the slow match upon deck burnt out. There was a faint explosion, but no result; and Sir Ronald Yorke, the man who had handed over Zutphen, sprang on board with a party of volunteers, extinguished the fire smoldering on deck, and thrusting their spears down into the hold, endeavoured to ascertain the nature of its contents. Finding it impossible to do so they returned to the bridge.

The Spaniards were now shouting with laughter at the impotent attempt of the Antwerpers to destroy the bridge, and were watching the Hope, which was now following her consort. She passed just clear of the end of the raft, and struck the bridge close to the blockhouse at the commencement of the floating portion. A fire was smoldering on her deck, and a party of soldiers at once sprang on board to extinguish this, as their comrades had done the fire on board the Fortune. The Marquis of Richebourg, standing on the bridge, directed the operations. The Prince of Parma was standing close by, when an officer named Vega, moved by a sudden impulse, fell on his knees and implored him to leave the place, and not to risk a life so precious to Spain. Moved by the officer's entreaties Parma turned and walked along the bridge. He had just reached the entrance to the fort when a terrific explosion took place.

The clockwork of the Hope had succeeded better than the slow match in the Fortune. In an instant she disappeared, and with her the blockhouse against which she had struck, with all of its garrison, a large portion of the bridge, and all the troops stationed upon it. The ground was shaken as if by an earthquake, houses fell miles away, and the air was filled with a rain of mighty blocks of stone, some of which were afterwards found a league away. A thousand soldiers were killed in an instant, the rest were dashed to the ground, stunned and bewildered. The Marquis of Richebourg and most of Parma's best officers were killed. Parma himself lay for a long time as if dead, but presently recovered and set to work to do what he could to repair the disaster.

The Zeeland fleet were lying below, only waiting for the signal to move up to destroy the rest of the bridge and carry succour to the city; but the incompetent and cowardly Jacobzoon rowed hastily away after the explosion, and the rocket that should have summoned the Zeelanders was never sent up. Parma moved about among his troops, restoring order and confidence, and as the night went on and no assault took place he set his men to work to collect drifting timbers and spars, and make a hasty and temporary restoration, in appearance at least, of the ruined portion of the bridge.

It was not until three days afterwards that the truth that the bridge had been partially destroyed, and that the way was open, was known at Antwerp. But by this time it was too late. The Zeelanders had retired; the Spaniards had recovered their confidence, and were hard at work restoring the bridge. From time to time fresh fireships were sent down; but Parma had now established a patrol of boats, which went out to meet them and towed them to shore far above the bridge. In the weeks that followed Parma's army dwindled away from sickness brought on by starvation, anxiety, and overwork; while the people of Antwerp were preparing for an attack upon the dyke of Kowenstyn. If that could be captured and broken, Parma's bridge would be rendered useless, as the Zeeland fleet could pass up over the submerged country with aid.

Parma was well aware of the supreme importance of this dyke. He had fringed both its margins with breastworks of stakes, and had strengthened the whole body of the dyke with timber work and piles. Where it touched the great Scheldt dyke a strong fortress called the Holy Cross had been constructed under the command of Mondragon, and at the further end, in the neighbourhood of Mansfeldt's headquarters, was another fort called the Stabroek, which commanded and raked the whole dyke.

On the body of the dyke itself were three strong forts a mile apart, called St. James, St. George, and the Fort of the Palisades. Several attacks had been made from time to time, both upon the bridge and dyke, and at daybreak on the 7th of May a fleet from Lillo, under Hohenlohe, landed five hundred Zeelanders upon it between St. George's and Fort Palisade. But the fleet that was to have come out from Antwerp to his assistance never arrived; and the Zeelanders were overpowered by the fire from the two forts and the attacks of the Spaniards, and retreated, leaving four of their ships behind them, and more than a fourth of their force.

Upon the 26th of the same month the grand attack, from which the people of Antwerp hoped so much, took place. Two hundred vessels were ready. A portion of these were to come up from Zeeland, under Hohenlohe; the rest to advance from Antwerp, under Sainte Aldegonde. At two o'clock in the morning the Spanish sentinels saw four fireships approaching the dyke. They mustered reluctantly, fearing a repetition of the previous explosion, and retired to the fort. When the fireships reached the stakes protecting the dyke, they burned and exploded, but without effecting much damage. But in the meantime a swarm of vessels of various sizes were seen approaching. It was the fleet of Hohenlohe, which had been sailing and rowing from ten o'clock on the previous night.

Guided by the light of the fireships they approached the dyke, and the Zeelanders sprang ashore and climbed up. They were met by several hundred Spanish troops, who, as soon as they saw the fireships burn out harmlessly, sallied out from their forts. The Zeelanders were beginning to give way when the Antwerp fleet came up on the other side, headed by Sainte Aldegonde. The new arrivals sprang from their boats and climbed the dyke. The Spaniards were driven off, and three thousand men occupied all the space between Fort George and the Palisade Fort.

With Sainte Aldegonde came all the English and Scotch troops in Antwerp under Balfour and Morgan, and many volunteers, among whom was Ned Martin. With Hohenlohe came Prince Maurice, William the Silent's son, a lad of eighteen. With wool sacks, sandbags, planks, and other materials the patriots now rapidly entrenched the position they had gained, while a large body of sappers and miners set to work with picks, mattocks, and shovels, tearing down the dyke. The Spaniards poured out from the forts; but Antwerpers, Dutchmen, Zeelanders, Scotchmen, and Englishmen met them bravely, and a tremendous conflict went on at each end of the narrow causeway.

Both parties fought with the greatest obstinacy, and for an hour there was no advantage on either side. At last the patriots were victorious, drove the Spaniards back into their two forts, and following up their success attacked the Palisade Fort. Its outworks were in their hands when a tremendous cheer was heard. The sappers and miners had done their work. Salt water poured through the broken dyke, and a Zeeland barge, freighted with provisions, floated triumphantly into the water beyond, now no longer an inland sea. Then when the triumph seemed achieved another fatal mistake was made by the patriots. Sainte Aldegonde and Hohenlohe, the two commanders of the enterprise, both leapt on board, anxious to be the first to carry the news of the victory to Antwerp, where they arrived in triumph, and set all the bells ringing and bonfires blazing.

For three hours the party on the dyke remained unmolested. Parma was at his camp four leagues away, and in ignorance of what had been done, and Mansfeldt could send no word across to him. The latter held a council of war, but it seemed that nothing could be done. Three thousand men were entrenched on the narrow dyke, covered by the guns of a hundred and sixty Zeeland ships. Some of the officers were in favour of waiting until nightfall; but at last the advice of a gallant officer, Camillo Capizucca, colonel of the Italian Legion, carried the day in favour of an immediate assault, and the Italians and Spaniards marched together from Fort Stabroek to the Palisade Fort, which was now in extremity.

They came in time, drove back the assailants, and were preparing to advance against them when a distant shout from the other end of the dyke told that Parma had arrived there. Mondragon moved from the Holy Cross to Fort George; and from that fort and from the Palisade the Spaniards advanced to the attack of the patriots' position. During the whole war no more desperate encounter took place than that upon the dyke, which was but six paces wide. The fight was long and furious. Three times the Spaniards were repulsed with tremendous loss; and while the patriot soldiers fought, their pioneers still carried on the destruction of the dyke.

A fourth assault was likewise repulsed, but the fifth was more successful. The Spaniards believed that they were led by a dead commander who had fallen some months before, and this superstitious belief inspired them with fresh courage. The entrenchment was carried, but its defenders fought as obstinately as before on the dyke behind it. Just at this moment the vessels of the Zeelanders began to draw off. Many had been sunk or disabled by the fire that the forts had maintained on them; and the rest found the water sinking fast, for the tide was now ebbing.

The patriots, believing that they were deserted by the fleet, were seized with a sudden panic; and, leaving the dyke, tried to wade or swim off to the ships. The Spaniards with shouts of victory pursued them. The English and Scotch were the last to abandon the position they had held for seven hours, and most of them were put to the sword. Two thousand in all were slain or drowned, the remainder succeeded in reaching the ships on one side or other of the dyke.

Ned Martin had fought to the last. He was standing side by side with Justinius of Nassau, and the two sprang together into a clump of high rushes, tore off their heavy armour and swam out to one of the Zeeland ships, which at once dropped down the river and reached the sea. Ned's mission was now at an end, and he at once returned to England.

The failure of the attempt upon the Kowenstyn dyke sealed the fate of Antwerp. It resisted until the middle of June; when finding hunger staring the city in the face, and having no hope whatever of relief, Sainte Aldegonde yielded to the clamour of the mob and opened negotiations.

These were continued for nearly two months. Parma was unaware that the town was reduced to such an extremity, and consented to give honourable terms. The treaty was signed on the 17th of August. There was to be a complete amnesty for the past. Royalist absentees were to be reinstated in their positions. Monasteries and churches to be restored to their former possessors. The inhabitants of the city were to practice the Catholic religion only, while those who refused to conform were allowed two years for the purpose of winding up their affairs. All prisoners, with the exception of Teligny, were to be released. Four hundred thousand florins were to be paid by the city as a fine, and the garrison were to leave the town with arms and baggage, and all honours of war.

The fall of Antwerp brought about with it the entire submission of Brabant and Flanders, and henceforth the war was continued solely by Zeeland, Holland, and Friesland.

The death of the Prince of Orange, and the fall of Antwerp, marked the conclusion of what may be called the first period of the struggle of the Netherlands for freedom. It was henceforth to enter upon another phase. England, which had long assisted Holland privately with money, and openly by the raising of volunteers for her service, was now about to enter the arena boldly and to play an important part in the struggle, which, after a long period of obstinate strife, was to end in the complete emancipation of the Netherlands from the yoke of Spain.

Sir Edward Martin married Gertrude Von Harp soon after his return to England. He retained the favour of Elizabeth to the day of her death, and there were few whose counsels had more influence with her. He long continued in the public service, although no longer compelled to do so as a means of livelihood; for as Holland and Zeeland freed themselves from the yoke of Spain, and made extraordinary strides in wealth and prosperity, the estates of the countess once more produced a splendid revenue, and this at her death came entirely to her daughter. A considerable portion of Sir Edward Martin's life, when not actually engaged upon public affairs, was spent upon the broad estates which had come to him from his wife.

END