continued some hours, without bringing on a general engagement. Towards
ten o'clock, Count Louis became impatient. All the trumpets of the
patriots now rang out a challenge to their adversaries, and the Spaniards
were just returning the defiance, and preparing a general onset,
when the Seigneur de Hierges and Baron Chevreaux arrived on the field.
They brought with them a reinforcement of more than a thousand men, and
the intelligence that Valdez was on his way with nearly five thousand
more. As he might be expected on the following morning, a short
deliberation was held as to the expediency of deferring the action.
Count Louis was at the head of six thousand foot and two thousand
cavalry. Avila mustered only four thousand infantry and not quite a
thousand horse. This inferiority would be changed on the morrow into an
overwhelming superiority. Meantime, it was well to remember the
punishment endured by Aremberg at Heiliger Lee, for not waiting till
Meghen's arrival. This prudent counsel was, however, very generally
scouted, and by none more loudly than by Hierges and Chevreaux, who had
brought the intelligence. It was thought that at this juncture nothing
could be more indiscreet than discretion. They had a wary and audacious
general to deal with. While they were waiting for their reinforcements,
he was quite capable of giving them the slip. He might thus effect the
passage of the stream and that union with his brother which--had been
thus far so successfully prevented. This reasoning prevailed, and the
skirmishing at the trench was renewed with redoubled vigour, an
additional: force being sent against it. After a short and fierce
struggle it was carried, and the Spaniards rushed into the village, but
were soon dislodged by a larger detachment of infantry, which Count Louis
sent to the rescue. The battle now became general at this point.
Nearly all the patriot infantry were employed to defend the post; nearly
all the Spanish infantry were ordered to assail it. The Spaniards,
dropping on their knees, according to custom, said a Paternoster and an
Ave Mary, and then rushed, in mass, to the attack. After a short but
sharp conflict, the trench was again carried, and the patriots completely
routed. Upon this, Count Louis charged with all his cavalry upon the
enemy's horse, which had hitherto remained motionless. With the first
shock the mounted arquebusiers of Schenk, constituting the vanguard, were
broken, and fled in all directions. So great was their panic, as Louis
drove them before him, that they never stopped till they had swum or been
drowned in the river; the survivors carrying the news to Grave and to
other cities that the royalists had been completely routed. This was,
however, very far from the truth. The patriot cavalry, mostly
carabineers, wheeled after the first discharge, and retired to reload
their pieces, but before they were ready for another attack, the Spanish
lancers and the German black troopers, who had all remained firm, set
upon them with great spirit: A fierce, bloody, and confused action
succeeded, in which the patriots were completely overthrown.
Count Louis, finding that the day was lost, and his army cut to pieces,
rallied around him a little band of troopers, among whom were his
brother, Count Henry, and Duke Christopher, and together they made a
final and desperate charge. It was the last that was ever seen of them
on earth. They all went down together, in the midst of the fight, and
were never heard of more. The battle terminated, as usual in those
conflicts of mutual hatred, in a horrible butchery, hardly any of the
patriot army being left to tell the tale of their disaster. At least
four thousand were killed, including those who were slain on the field,
those who were suffocated in the marshes or the river, and those who were
burned in the farm-houses where they had taken refuge. It was uncertain
which of those various modes of death had been the lot of Count Louis,
his brother, and his friend. The mystery was never solved. They had,
probably, all died on the field; but, stripped of their clothing, with
their, faces trampled upon by the hoofs of horses, it was not possible to
distinguish them from the less illustrious dead. It was the opinion of,
many that they had been drowned in the river; of others, that they had
been burned.
[Meteren, v. 91. Bor, vii. 491, 492. Hoofd, Bentivoglio, ubi
sup. The Walloon historian, occasionally cited in these pages, has
a more summary manner of accounting for the fate of these
distinguished personages. According to his statement, the leaders
of the Protestant forces dined and made merry at a convent in the
neighbourhood upon Good Friday, five days before the battle, using
the sacramental chalices at the banquet, and mixing consecrated
wafers with their wine. As a punishment for this sacrilege, the
army was utterly overthrown, and the Devil himself flew away with
the chieftains, body and soul.]
There was a vague tale that Louis, bleeding but not killed, had struggled
forth from the heap of corpses where he had been thrown, had crept to
the, river-side, and, while washing his wounds, had been surprised and
butchered by a party of rustics. The story was not generally credited,
but no man knew, or was destined to learn, the truth.
A dark and fatal termination to this last enterprise of Count Louis had
been anticipated by many. In that superstitious age, when emperors and
princes daily investigated the future, by alchemy, by astrology, and by
books of fate, filled with formula; as gravely and precisely set forth as
algebraical equations; when men of every class, from monarch to peasant,
implicitly believed in supernatural portents and prophecies, it was not
singular that a somewhat striking appearance, observed in the sky some
weeks previously to the battle of Mookerheyde, should have inspired many
persons with a shuddering sense of impending evil.
Early in February five soldiers of the burgher guard at Utrecht, being on
their midnight watch, beheld in the sky above them the representation of
a furious battle. The sky was extremely dark, except directly over:
their heads; where, for a space equal in extent to the length of the
city, and in breadth to that of an ordinary chamber, two armies, in
battle array, were seen advancing upon each other. The one moved rapidly
up from the north-west, with banners waving; spears flashing, trumpets
sounding; accompanied by heavy artillery and by squadrons of cavalry.
The other came slowly forward from the southeast; as if from an
entrenched camp, to encounter their assailants. There was a fierce
action for a few moments, the shouts of the combatants, the heavy
discharge of cannon, the rattle of musketry; the tramp of heavy-aimed
foot soldiers, the rush of cavalry, being distinctly heard. The
firmament trembled with the shock of the contending hosts, and was lurid
with the rapid discharges of their artillery. After a short, fierce
engagement, the north-western army was beaten back in disorder, but
rallied again, after a breathing-time, formed again into solid column,
and again advanced. Their foes, arrayed, as the witnesses affirmed, in a
square and closely serried grove of spears' and muskets, again awaited
the attack. Once more the aerial cohorts closed upon each other, all the
signs and sounds of a desperate encounter being distinctly recognised by
the eager witnesses. The struggle seemed but short. The lances of the
south-eastern army seemed to snap "like hemp-stalks," while their firm
columns all went down together in mass, beneath the onset of their
enemies. The overthrow was complete, victors and vanquished had faded,
the clear blue space, surrounded by black clouds, was empty, when
suddenly its whole extent, where the conflict had so lately raged, was
streaked with blood, flowing athwart the sky in broad crimson streams;
nor was it till the five witnesses had fully watched and pondered over
these portents that the vision entirely vanished.
So impressed were the grave magistrates of Utrecht with the account given
next day by the sentinels, that a formal examination of the circumstances
was made, the deposition of each witness, under oath, duly recorded, and
a vast deal of consultation of soothsayers' books and other auguries
employed to elucidate the mystery. It was universally considered typical
of the anticipated battle between Count Louis and the Spaniards. When,
therefore, it was known that the patriots, moving from the south-east,
had arrived at Mookerheyde, and that their adversaries, crossing the
Meuse at Grave, had advanced upon them from the north-west, the result of
the battle was considered inevitable; the phantom battle of Utrecht its
infallible precursor.
Thus perished Louis of Nassau in the flower of his manhood, in the midst
of a career already crowded with events such as might suffice for a
century of ordinary existence. It is difficult to find in history a more
frank and loyal character. His life was noble; the elements of the
heroic and the genial so mixed in him that the imagination contemplates
him, after three centuries, with an almost affectionate interest. He was
not a great man. He was far from possessing the subtle genius or the
expansive views of his brother; but, called as he was to play a prominent
part in one of the most complicated and imposing dramas ever enacted by
man, he, nevertheless, always acquitted himself with honor. His direct,
fearless and energetic nature commanded alike the respect of friend and
foe. As a politician, a soldier, and a diplomatist, he was busy, bold,
and true. He, accomplished by sincerity what many thought could only be
compassed by trickery. Dealing often with the most adroit and most
treacherous of princes and statesmen, he frequently carried his point,
and he never stooped to flattery. From the time when, attended by his
"twelve disciples," he assumed the most prominent part in the
negotiations with Margaret of Parma, through all the various scenes of
the revolution, through, all the conferences with Spaniards, Italians,
Huguenots. Malcontents, Flemish councillors, or German princes, he was
the consistent and unflinching supporter of religious liberty and
constitutional law. The battle of Heiliger Lee and the capture of Mons
were his most signal triumphs, but the fruits of both were annihilated by
subsequent disaster. His headlong courage was his chief foible. The
French accused him of losing the battle of Moncontour by his impatience
to engage; yet they acknowledged that to his masterly conduct it was
owing that their retreat was effected in so successful, and even so
brilliant a manner. He was censured for rashness and precipitancy in
this last and fatal enterprise, but the reproach seems entirely without
foundation. The expedition as already stated, had been deliberately
arranged, with the full co-operation of his brother, and had been
preparing several months. That he was able to set no larger force on
foot than that which he led into Gueldres was not his fault. But for the
floating ice which barred his passage of the Meuse, he would have
surprised Maestricht; but for the mutiny, which rendered his mercenary
soldiers cowards, he might have defeated Avila at Mookerheyde. Had he
done so he would have joined his brother in the Isle of Bommel in
triumph; the Spaniards would, probably, have been expelled from Holland,
and Leyden saved the horrors of that memorable siege which she was soon
called, upon to endure. These results were not in his destiny.
Providence had decreed that he should perish in the midst of his
usefulness; that the Prince, in his death,'should lose the right hand
which had been so swift to execute his various plans, and the faithful
fraternal heart which had always responded so readily to every throb of
his own.
In figure, he was below the middle height, but martial and noble in his
bearing. The expression of his countenance was lively; his manner frank
and engaging. All who knew him personally loved him, and he was the idol
of his gallant brethren: His mother always addressed him as her dearly
beloved, her heart's-cherished Louis. "You must come soon to me," she
wrote in the last year of his life, "for I have many matters to ask your
advice upon; and I thank you beforehand, for you have loved me as your
mother all the days of your life; for which may God Almighty have you in
his holy keeping."
It was the doom of this high-born, true-hearted dame to be called upon to
weep oftener for her children than is the usual lot of mothers. Count
Adolphus had already perished in his youth on the field of Heiliger Lee,
and now Louis and his young brother Henry, who had scarcely attained his
twenty-sixth year, and whose short life had been passed in that faithful
service to the cause of freedom which was the instinct of his race, had
both found a bloody and an unknown grave. Count John, who had already
done so much for the cause, was fortunately spared to do much more.
Although of the expedition, and expecting to participate in the battle,
he had, at the urgent solicitation of all the leaders, left the army for
a brief, season, in order to obtain at Cologne a supply of money, for the
mutinous troops: He had started upon this mission two days before the
action in which he, too, would otherwise have been sacrificed. The young
Duke Christopher, "optimm indolis et magnee spei adolescens," who had
perished on the same field, was sincerely mourned by the lovers of
freedom. His father, the Elector, found his consolation in the
Scriptures, and in the reflection that his son had died in the bed of
honor, fighting for the cause of God. "'T was better thus," said that
stern Calvinist, whose dearest wish was to "Calvinize the world," than to
have passed his time in idleness, "which is the Devil's pillow."
Vague rumors of the catastrophe had spread far and wide. It was soon
certain that Louis had been defeated, but, for a long time, conflicting
reports were in circulation as to the fate of the leaders. The Prince of
Orange, meanwhile, passed days of intense anxiety, expecting hourly to
hear from his brothers, listening to dark rumors, which he refused to
credit and could not contradict, and writing letters, day after day, long
after the eyes which should have read the friendly missives were closed.
The victory of the King's army at Mookerheyde had been rendered
comparatively barren by the mutiny which broke forth the day after the
battle. Three years' pay were due to the Spanish troops, and it was not
surprising that upon this occasion one of those periodic rebellions
should break forth, by which the royal cause was frequently so much
weakened, and the royal governors so intolerably perplexed. These
mutinies were of almost regular occurrence, and attended by as regular a
series of phenomena. The Spanish troops, living so far from their own
country, but surrounded by their women, and constantly increasing swarms
of children, constituted a locomotive city of considerable population,
permanently established on a foreign soil. It was a city walled in by
bayonets, and still further isolated from the people around by the
impassable moat of mutual hatred. It was a city obeying the articles of
war, governed by despotic authority, and yet occasionally revealing, in
full force, the irrepressible democratic element. At periods which could
almost be calculated, the military populace were wont to rise upon the
privileged classes, to deprive them of office and liberty, and to set up
in their place commanders of their own election. A governor-in-chief, a
sergeant-major, a board of councillors and various other functionaries,
were chosen by acclamation and universal suffrage. The Eletto, or chief
officer thus appointed, was clothed with supreme power, but forbidden to
exercise it. He was surrounded by councillors, who watched his every
motion, read all his correspondence, and assisted at all his conferences,
while the councillors were themselves narrowly watched by the commonalty.
These movements were, however, in general, marked by the most exemplary
order. Anarchy became a system of government; rebellion enacted and
enforced the strictest rules of discipline; theft, drunkenness, violence
to women, were severely punished. As soon as the mutiny broke forth, the
first object was to take possession of the nearest city, where the Eletto
was usually established in the town-house, and the soldiery quartered
upon the citizens. Nothing in the shape of food or lodging was too good
for these marauders. Men who had lived for years on camp rations--coarse
knaves who had held the plough till compelled to handle the musket, now
slept in fine linen, and demanded from the trembling burghers the
daintiest viands. They ate the land bare, like a swarm of locusts.
"Chickens and partridges," says the thrifty chronicler of Antwerp,
"capons and pheasants, hares and rabbits, two kinds of wines;--for
sauces, capers and olives, citrons and oranges, spices and sweetmeats;
wheaten bread for their dogs, and even wine, to wash the feet of their
horses;"--such was the entertainment demanded and obtained by the
mutinous troops. They were very willing both to enjoy the luxury of this
forage, and to induce the citizens, from weariness of affording compelled
hospitality, to submit to a taxation by which the military claims might
be liquidated.
A city thus occupied was at the mercy of a foreign soldiery, which had
renounced all authority but that of self-imposed laws. The King's
officers were degraded, perhaps murdered; while those chosen to supply
their places had only a nominal control. The Eletto, day by day,
proclaimed from the balcony of the town-house the latest rules and
regulations. If satisfactory, there was a clamor of applause; if
objectionable, they were rejected with a tempest of hisses, with
discharges of musketry; The Eletto did not govern: he was a dictator who
could not dictate, but could only register decrees. If too honest, too
firm, or too dull for his place, he was deprived of his office and
sometimes of his life. Another was chosen in his room, often to be
succeeded by a series of others, destined to the same fate. Such were
the main characteristics of those formidable mutinies, the result of the
unthriftiness and dishonesty by which the soldiery engaged in these
interminable hostilities were deprived of their dearly earned wages. The
expense of the war was bad enough at best, but when it is remembered that
of three or four dollars sent from Spain, or contributed by the provinces
for the support of the army, hardly one reached the pockets of the
soldier, the frightful expenditure which took place may be imagined. It
was not surprising that so much peculation should engender revolt.
The mutiny which broke out after the defeat of Count Louis was marked
with the most pronounced and inflammatory of these symptoms. Three
years' pay was due, to the Spaniards, who, having just achieved a signal
victory, were-disposed to reap its fruits, by fair means or by force.
On receiving nothing but promises, in answer to their clamorous demands,
they mutinied to a man, and crossed the Meuse to Grave, whence, after
accomplishing the usual elections, they took their course to Antwerp.
Being in such strong force, they determined to strike at the capital.
Rumour flew before them. Champagny, brother of Granvelle, and royal
governor of the city, wrote in haste to apprise Requesens of the
approaching danger. The Grand Commander, attended only by Vitelli,
repaired. instantly to Antwerp. Champagny advised throwing up a
breastwork with bales of merchandize, upon the esplanade, between the
citadel and the town, for it was at this point, where the connection
between the fortifications of the castle and those of the city had never
been thoroughly completed, that the invasion might be expected.
Requesens hesitated. He trembled at a conflict with his own soldiery.
If successful, he could only be so by trampling upon the flower of his
army. If defeated, what would become of the King's authority, with
rebellious troops triumphant in rebellious provinces? Sorely perplexed,
the Commander, could think of no expedient. Not knowing what to do, he
did nothing. In the meantime, Champagny, who felt himself odious to the
soldiery, retreated to the Newtown, and barricaded himself, with a few
followers, in the house of the Baltic merchants.
On the 26th of April, the mutinous troops in perfect order, marched into
the city, effecting their entrance precisely at the weak point where they
had been expected. Numbering at least three thousand, they encamped on
the esplanade, where Requesens appeared before them alone on horseback,
and made them an oration. They listened with composure, but answered
briefly and with one accord, "Dineros y non palabras," dollars not
speeches. Requesens promised profusely, but the time was past for
promises. Hard Silver dollars would alone content an army which, after
three years of bloodshed and starvation, had at last taken the law into
their own hands. Requesens withdrew to consult the Broad Council of the
city. He was without money himself, but he demanded four hundred
thousand crowns of the city. This was at first refused, but the troops
knew the strength of their position, for these mutinies were never
repressed, and rarely punished. On this occasion the Commander was
afraid to employ force, and the burghers, after the army had been
quartered upon them for a time, would gladly pay a heavy ransom to be rid
of their odious and expensive guests. The mutineers foreseeing that the
work might last a few weeks, and determined to proceed leisurely; took
possession of the great square. The Eletto, with his staff of
councillors, was quartered in the town-house, while the soldiers
distributed themselves among the houses of the most opulent citizens,
no one escaping a billet who was rich enough to receive such company:
bishop or burgomaster, margrave or merchant. The most famous kitchens
were naturally the most eagerly sought, and sumptuous apartments,
luxurious dishes, delicate wines, were daily demanded. The burghers
dared not refuse.
The six hundred Walloons, who had been previously quartered in the city,
were expelled, and for many days, the mutiny reigned paramount. Day
after day the magistracy, the heads of guilds, all the representatives of
the citizens were assembled in the Broad Council. The Governor-General
insisted on his demand of four hundred thousand crowns, representing,
with great justice, that the mutineers would remain in the city until
they had eaten and drunk to that amount, and that there would still be
the arrearages; for which the city would be obliged to raise the funds.
On the 9th of May, the authorities made an offer, which was duly
communicated to the Eletto. That functionary stood forth on a window-
sill of the town-house, and addressed the soldiery. He informed them
that the Grand Commander proposed to pay ten months' arrears in cash,
five months in silks and woollen cloths, and the balance in promises, to
be fulfilled within a few days. The terms were not considered
satisfactory, and were received with groans of derision. The Eletto, on
the contrary, declared them very liberal, and reminded the soldiers of
the perilous condition in which they stood, guilty to a man of high
treason, with a rope around every neck. It was well worth their while to
accept the offer made them, together with the absolute pardon for the
past, by which it was accompanied. For himself, he washed his hands of
the consequences if the offer were rejected. The soldiers answered by
deposing the Eletto and choosing another in his room.
Three days after, a mutiny broke out in the citadel--an unexampled
occurrence. The rebels ordered Sancho d'Avila, the commandant, to
deliver the keys of the fortress. He refused to surrender them but with
his life. They then contented themselves with compelling his lieutenant
to leave the citadel, and with sending their Eletto to confer with the
Grand Commander, as well as with the Eletto of the army. After
accomplishing his mission, he returned, accompanied by Chiappin Vitelli,
as envoy of the Governor-General. No sooner, however, had the Eletto set
foot on the drawbridge than he was attacked by Ensign Salvatierra of the
Spanish garrison, who stabbed him to the heart and threw him into the
moat. The ensign, who was renowned in the army for his ferocious
courage, and who wore embroidered upon his trunk hose the inscription,
"El castigador de los Flamencos," then rushed upon the Sergeant-major of
the mutineers, despatched him in the same way, and tossed him likewise
into the moat. These preliminaries being settled, a satisfactory
arrangement was negotiated between Vitelli and the rebellious garrison.
Pardon for the past, and payment upon the same terms as those offered in
the city, were accepted, and the mutiny of the citadel was quelled. It
was, however, necessary that Salvatierra should conceal himself for a
long time, to escape being torn to pieces by the incensed soldiery.