By JOHN LOTHROP MOTLEY
1855
ADMINISTRATION OF THE GRAND COMMANDER
PART IV.
1573-74 [CHAPTER I.]
Previous career of Requesens--Philip's passion for detail--Apparent
and real purposes of government--Universal desire for peace--
Correspondence of leading royalists with Orange--Bankruptcy of the
exchequer at Alva's departures--Expensive nature of the war--
Pretence of mildness on the part of the Commander--His private
views--Distress of Mondragon at Middelburg--Crippled condition of
Holland--Orange's secret negotiations with France--St. Aldegonde's
views in captivity--Expedition to relieve Middelburg--Counter
preparations of Orange--Defeat of the expedition--Capitulation of
Mondragon--Plans of Orange and his brothers--An army under Count
Louis crosses the Rhine--Measures taken by Requesens--Manoeuvres of
Avila and of Louis--The two armies in face at Mook--Battle of Mook-
heath--Overthrow and death of Count Louis--The phantom battle--
Character of Louis of Nassau--Painful uncertainty as to his fate--
Periodical mutinies of the Spanish troops characterized--Mutiny
after the battle of Mook--Antwerp attacked and occupied,--Insolent
and oppressive conduct of the mutineers--Offers of Requesens
refused--Mutiny in the citadel--Exploits of Salvatierra--Terms of
composition--Soldiers' feast on the mere--Successful expedition of
Admiral Boisot
The horrors of Alva's administration had caused men to look back with
fondness upon the milder and more vacillating tyranny of the Duchess
Margaret. From the same cause the advent of the Grand Commander was
hailed with pleasure and with a momentary gleam of hope. At any rate, it
was a relief that the man in whom an almost impossible perfection of
cruelty seemed embodied was at last to be withdrawn it was certain that
his successor, however ambitious of following in Alva's footsteps, would
never be able to rival the intensity and the unswerving directness of
purpose which it had been permitted to the Duke's nature to attain. The
new Governor-General was, doubtless, human, and it had been long since
the Netherlanders imagined anything in common between themselves and the
late Viceroy.
Apart from this hope, however, there was little encouragement to be
derived from anything positively known of the new functionary, or the
policy which he was to represent. Don Luis de Requesens and Cuniga, Grand
Commander of Castile and late Governor of Milan, was a man of mediocre
abilities, who possessed a reputation for moderation and sagacity which
he hardly deserved. His military prowess had been chiefly displayed in
the bloody and barren battle of Lepanto, where his conduct and counsel
were supposed to have contributed, in some measure, to the victorious
result. His administration at Milan had been characterized as firm and
moderate. Nevertheless, his character was regarded with anything but
favorable eyes in the Netherlands. Men told each other of his broken
faith to the Moors in Granada, and of his unpopularity in Milan, where,
notwithstanding his boasted moderation, he had, in reality, so oppressed
the people as to gain their deadly hatred. They complained, too, that it
was an insult to send, as Governor-General of the provinces, not a prince
of the blood, as used to be the case, but a simple "gentleman of cloak
and sword."
Any person, however, who represented the royal authority in the provinces
was under historical disadvantage. He was literally no more than an
actor, hardly even that. It was Philip's policy and pride to direct all
the machinery of his extensive empire, and to pull every string himself.
His puppets, however magnificently attired, moved only in obedience to
his impulse, and spoke no syllable but with his voice. Upon the table in
his cabinet was arranged all the business of his various realms, even to
the most minute particulars.
Plans, petty or vast, affecting the interests of empires and ages, or
bounded within the narrow limits of trivial and evanescent detail,
encumbered his memory and consumed his time. His ambition to do all the
work of his kingdoms was aided by an inconceivable greediness for labor.
He loved the routine of business, as some monarchs have loved war, as
others have loved pleasure. The object, alike paltry and impossible, of
this ambition, bespoke the narrow mind. His estates were regarded by him
as private property; measures affecting the temporal and eternal
interests of millions were regarded as domestic affairs, and the eye of
the master was considered the only one which could duly superintend these
estates and those interests. Much incapacity to govern was revealed in
this inordinate passion to administer. His mind, constantly fatigued by
petty labors, was never enabled to survey his wide domains from the
height of majesty.
In Alva, certainly, he had employed an unquestionable reality; but Alva,
by a fortunate coincidence of character, had seemed his second self. He
was now gone, however, and although the royal purpose had not altered,
the royal circumstances were changed. The moment had arrived when it was
thought that the mask and cothurn might again be assumed with effect;
when a grave and conventional personage might decorously make his
appearance to perform an interlude of clemency and moderation with
satisfactory results. Accordingly, the Great Commander, heralded by
rumors of amnesty, was commissioned to assume the government which Alva
had been permitted to resign.
It had been industriously circulated that a change of policy was
intended. It was even supposed by the more sanguine that the Duke had
retired in disgrace. A show of coldness was manifested towards him on his
return by the King, while Vargas, who had accompanied the Governor, was
peremptorily forbidden to appear within five leagues of the court. The
more discerning, however, perceived much affectation in this apparent
displeasure. Saint Goard, the keen observer of Philip's moods and
measures, wrote to his sovereign that he had narrowly observed the
countenances of both Philip and Alva; that he had informed himself as
thoroughly as possible with regard to the course of policy intended; that
he had arrived at the conclusion that the royal chagrin was but
dissimulation, intended to dispose the Netherlanders to thoughts of an
impossible peace, and that he considered the present merely a breathing
time, in which still more active preparations might be made for crushing
the rebellion. It was now evident to the world that the revolt had
reached a stage in which it could be terminated only by absolute conquest
or concession.
To conquer the people of the provinces, except by extermination, seemed
difficult--to judge by the seven years of execution, sieges and
campaigns, which had now passed without a definite result. It was,
therefore, thought expedient to employ concession. The new Governor
accordingly, in case the Netherlanders would abandon every object for
which they had been so heroically contending, was empowered to concede a
pardon. It was expressly enjoined upon him, however, that no conciliatory
measures should be adopted in which the King's absolute supremacy, and
the total prohibition of every form of worship but the Roman Catholic,
were not assumed as a basis. Now, as the people had been contending at
least ten years long for constitutional rights against prerogative, and
at least seven for liberty of conscience against papistry, it was easy to
foretell how much effect any negotiations thus commenced were likely to
produce.
Yet, no doubt, in the Netherlands there was a most earnest longing for
peace. The Catholic portion of the population were desirous of a
reconciliation with their brethren of the new religion. The universal
vengeance which had descended upon heresy had not struck the heretics
only. It was difficult to find a fireside, Protestant or Catholic, which
had not been made desolate by execution, banishment, or confiscation. The
common people and the grand seigniors were alike weary of the war. Not
only Aerschot and Viglius, but Noircarmes and Berlaymont, were desirous
that peace should be at last compassed upon liberal terms, and the Prince
of Orange fully and unconditionally pardoned. Even the Spanish commanders
had become disgusted with the monotonous butchery which had stained their
swords. Julian Romero; the fierce and unscrupulous soldier upon whose
head rested the guilt of the Naarden massacre, addressed several letters
to William of Orange, full of courtesy, and good wishes for a speedy
termination of the war, and for an entire reconciliation of the Prince
with his sovereign. Noircarmes also opened a correspondence with the
great leader of the revolt; and offered to do all in his power to restore
peace and prosperity to the country. The Prince answered the courtesy of
the Spaniard with equal, but barren, courtesy; for it was obvious that no
definite result could be derived from such informal negotiations. To
Noircarmes he responded in terms of gentle but grave rebuke, expressing
deep regret that a Netherland noble of such eminence, with so many others
of rank and authority, should so long have supported the King in his
tyranny. He, however, expressed his satisfaction that their eyes, however
late, had opened to the enormous iniquity which had been practised in the
country, and he accepted the offers of friendship as frankly as they had
been made. Not long afterwards, the Prince furnished his correspondent
with a proof of his sincerity, by forwarding to him two letters which had
been intercepted; from certain agents of government to Alva, in which
Noircarmes and others who had so long supported the King against their
own country, were spoken of in terms of menace and distrust. The Prince
accordingly warned his new correspondent that, in spite of all the proofs
of uncompromising loyalty which he had exhibited, he was yet moving upon
a dark and slippery-pathway, and might, even like Egmont and Horn, find a
scaffold-as the end and the reward of his career. So profound was that
abyss of dissimulation which constituted the royal policy, towards the
Netherlands, that the most unscrupulous partisans of government could
only see doubt and danger with regard to their future destiny, and were
sometimes only saved by an opportune death from disgrace and the
hangman's hands.
Such, then, were the sentiments of many eminent personages, even among
the most devoted loyalists. All longed for peace; many even definitely
expected it, upon the arrival of the Great Commander. Moreover, that
functionary discovered, at his first glance into the disorderly state of
the exchequer, that at least a short respite was desirable before
proceeding with the interminable measures of hostility against the
rebellion. If any man had been ever disposed to give Alva credit for
administrative ability, such delusion must have vanished at the spectacle
of confusion and bankruptcy which presented, itself at the termination of
his government. He resolutely declined to give his successor any
information whatever as to his financial position. So far from furnishing
a detailed statement, such as might naturally be expected upon so
momentous an occasion, he informed the Grand Commander that even a sketch
was entirely out of the question, and would require more time and labor
than he could then afford. He took his departure, accordingly, leaving
Requesens in profound ignorance as to his past accounts; an ignorance in
which it is probable that the Duke himself shared to the fullest extent.
His enemies stoutly maintained that, however loosely his accounts had
been kept, he had been very careful to make no mistakes against himself,
and that he had retired full of wealth, if not of honor, from his long
and terrible administration. His own letters, on the contrary, accused
the King of ingratitude, in permitting an old soldier to ruin himself,
not only in health but in fortune, for want of proper recompense during
an arduous administration. At any rate it is very certain that the
rebellion had already been an expensive matter to the Crown. The army in
the Netherlands numbered more than sixty-two thousand men, eight thousand
being Spaniards, the rest Walloons and Germans. Forty millions of dollars
had already been sunk, and it seemed probable that it would require
nearly the whole annual produce of the American mines to sustain the war.
The transatlantic gold and silver, disinterred from the depths where they
had been buried for ages, were employed, not to expand the current of a
healthy, life-giving commerce, but to be melted into blood. The sweat and
the tortures of the King's pagan subjects in the primeval forests of the
New World, were made subsidiary to the extermination of his Netherland
people, and the destruction of an ancient civilization. To this end had
Columbus discovered a hemisphere for Castile and Aragon, and the new
Indies revealed their hidden treasures?
Forty millions of ducats had been spent. Six and a half millions of
arrearages were due to the army, while its current expenses were six
hundred thousand a month. The military expenses alone of the Netherlands
were accordingly more than seven millions of dollars yearly, and the
mines of the New World produced, during the half century of Philip's
reign, an average of only eleven. Against this constantly increasing
deficit, there was not a stiver in the exchequer, nor the means of
raising one. The tenth penny had been long virtually extinct, and was
soon to be formally abolished. Confiscation had ceased to afford a
permanent revenue, and the estates obstinately refused to grant a dollar.
Such was the condition to which the unrelenting tyranny and the financial
experiments of Alva had reduced the country.
It was, therefore, obvious to Requesens that it would be useful at the
moment to hold out hopes of pardon and reconciliation. He saw, what he
had not at first comprehended, and what few bigoted supporters of
absolutism in any age have ever comprehended, that national enthusiasm,
when profound and general, makes a rebellion more expensive to the despot
than to the insurgents. "Before my arrival," wrote the Grand Commander to
his sovereign, "I did not understand how the rebels could maintain such
considerable fleets, while your Majesty could not support a single one.
It appears, however, that men who are fighting for their lives, their
firesides, their property, and their false religion, for their own cause,
in short, are contented to receive rations only, without receiving pay."
The moral which the new Governor drew from his correct diagnosis of the
prevailing disorder was, not that this national enthusiasm should be
respected, but that it should be deceived. He deceived no one but
himself, however. He censured Noircarmes and Romero for their
intermeddling, but held out hopes of a general pacification. He
repudiated the idea of any reconciliation between the King and the Prince
of Orange, but proposed at the same time a settlement of the revolt. He
had not yet learned that the revolt and William of Orange were one.
Although the Prince himself had repeatedly offered to withdraw for ever
from the country, if his absence would expedite a settlement satisfactory
to the provinces, there was not a patriot in the Netherlands who could
contemplate his departure without despair. Moreover, they all knew better
than did Requesens, the inevitable result of the pacific measures which
had been daily foreshadowed.
The appointment of the Grand Commander was in truth a desperate attempt
to deceive the Netherlanders. He approved distinctly and heartily of
Alva's policy, but wrote to the King that it was desirable to amuse the
people with the idea of another and a milder scheme. He affected to
believe, and perhaps really did believe, that the nation would accept the
destruction of all their institutions, provided that penitent heretics
were allowed to be reconciled to the Mother Church, and obstinate ones
permitted to go into perpetual exile, taking with them a small portion of
their worldly goods. For being willing to make this last and almost
incredible concession, he begged pardon sincerely of the King. If
censurable, he ought not, he thought, to be too severely blamed, for his
loyalty was known. The world was aware how often he had risked his life
for his Majesty, and how gladly and how many more times he was ready to
risk it in future. In his opinion, religion had, after all, but very
little to do with the troubles, and so he confidentially informed his
sovereign. Egmont and Horn had died Catholics, the people did not rise to
assist the Prince's invasion in 1568, and the new religion was only a
lever by which a few artful demagogues had attempted to overthrow the
King's authority.
Such views as these revealed the measures of the new Governor's capacity.
The people had really refused to rise in 1568, not because they were
without sympathy for Orange, but because they were paralyzed by their
fear of Alva. Since those days, however, the new religion had increased
and multiplied everywhere, in the blood which had rained upon it. It was
now difficult to find a Catholic in Holland and Zealand, who was not a
government agent. The Prince had been a moderate Catholic, in the opening
scenes of the rebellion, while he came forward as the champion of liberty
for all forms of Christianity. He had now become a convert to the new
religion without receding an inch from his position in favor of universal
toleration. The new religion was, therefore, not an instrument devised by
a faction, but had expanded into the atmosphere of the people's daily
life. Individuals might be executed for claiming to breathe it, but it
was itself impalpable to the attacks of despotism. Yet the Grand
Commander persuaded himself that religion had little or nothing to do
with the state of the Netherlands. Nothing more was necessary, he
thought; or affected to think, in order to restore tranquillity, than
once more to spread the net of a general amnesty.
The Duke of Alva knew better. That functionary, with whom, before his
departure from the provinces, Requesens had been commanded to confer,
distinctly stated his opinion that there was no use of talking about
pardon. Brutally, but candidly, he maintained that there was nothing to
be done but to continue the process of extermination. It was necessary,
he said, to reduce the country to a dead level of unresisting misery;
before an act of oblivion could be securely laid down as the foundation
of a new and permanent order of society. He had already given his advice
to his Majesty, that every town in the country should be burned to the
ground, except those which could be permanently occupied by the royal
troops. The King, however, in his access of clemency at the appointment
of a new administration, instructed the Grand Commander not to resort to
this measure unless it should become strictly necessary.--Such were the
opposite opinions of the old and new governors with regard to the pardon.
The learned Viglius sided with Alva, although manifestly against his
will. "It is both the Duke's opinion and my own," wrote the Commander,
"that Viglius does not dare to express his real opinion, and that he is
secretly desirous of an arrangement with the rebels." With a good deal of
inconsistency, the Governor was offended, not only with those who opposed
his plans, but with those who favored them. He was angry with Viglius,
who, at least nominally, disapproved of the pardon, and with Noircarmes,
Aerschot, and others, who manifested a wish for a pacification. Of the
chief characteristic ascribed to the people by Julius Caesar, namely,
that they forgot neither favors nor injuries, the second half only, in
the Grand Commander's opinion, had been retained. Not only did they never
forget injuries, but their memory, said he, was so good, that they
recollected many which they had never received.
On the whole, however, in the embarrassed condition of affairs, and while
waiting for further supplies, the Commander was secretly disposed to try
the effect of a pardon. The object was to deceive the people and to gain
time; for there was no intention of conceding liberty of conscience, of
withdrawing foreign troops, or of assembling the states-general. It was,
however, not possible to apply these hypocritical measures of
conciliation immediately. The war was in full career and could not be
arrested even in that wintry season. The patriots held Mondragon closely
besieged in Middelburg, the last point in the Isle of Walcheren which
held for the King. There was a considerable treasure in money and
merchandise shut up in that city; and, moreover, so deserving and
distinguished an officer as Mondragon could not be abandoned to his fate.
At the same time, famine was pressing him sorely, and, by the end of the
year, garrison and townspeople had nothing but rats, mice, dogs, cats,
and such repulsive substitutes for food, to support life withal. It was
necessary to take immediate measures to relieve the place.
On the other hand, the situation of the patriots was not very
encouraging. Their superiority on the sea was unquestionable, for the
Hollanders and Zealanders were the best sailors in the world, and they
asked of their country no payment for their blood, but thanks. The land
forces, however, were usually mercenaries, who were apt to mutiny at the
commencement of an action if, as was too often the case, their wages
could not be paid. Holland was entirely cut in twain by the loss of
Harlem and the leaguer of Leyden, no communication between the dissevered
portions being possible, except with difficulty and danger. The estates,
although they had done much for the cause, and were prepared to do much
more, were too apt to wrangle about economical details. They irritated
the Prince of Orange by huckstering about subsidies to a degree which his
proud and generous nature could hardly brook. He had strong hopes from
France. Louis of Nassau had held secret interviews with the Duke of
Alencon and the Duke of Anjou, now King of Poland, at Blamont. Alencon
had assured him secretly, affectionately, and warmly, that he would be as
sincere a friend to the cause as were his two royal brothers. The Count
had even received one hundred thousand livres in hand, as an earnest of
the favorable intentions of France, and was now busily engaged, at the
instance of the Prince, in levying an army in Germany for the relief of
Leyden and the rest of Holland, while William, on his part, was omitting
nothing, whether by representations to the estates or by secret foreign
missions and correspondence, to further the cause of the suffering
country.
At the same time, the Prince dreaded the effect--of the promised pardon.
He had reason to be distrustful of the general temper of the nation when
a man like Saint Aldegonde, the enlightened patriot and his own tried
friend, was influenced, by the discouraging and dangerous position in
which he found himself, to abandon the high ground upon which they had
both so long and so firmly stood: Saint Aldegonde had been held a strict
prisoner since his capture at Maeslandsluis, at the close of Alva's
administration.--It was, no doubt, a predicament attended with much keen
suffering and positive danger. It had hitherto been the uniform policy of
the government to kill all prisoners, of whatever rank. Accordingly, some
had been drowned, some had been hanged--some beheaded some poisoned in
their dungeons--all had been murdered. This had been Alva's course. The
Grand Commander also highly approved of the system, but the capture of
Count Bossu by the patriots had necessitated a suspension of such rigor.
It was certain that Bossu's head would fall as soon as Saint Aldegonde's,
the Prince having expressly warned the government of this inevitable
result. Notwithstanding that security, however, for his eventual
restoration to liberty, a Netherland rebel in a Spanish prison could
hardly feel himself at ease. There were so many foot-marks into the cave
and not a single one coming forth. Yet it was not singular, however, that
the Prince should read with regret the somewhat insincere casuistry with
which Saint Aldegonde sought to persuade himself and his
fellow-countrymen that a reconciliation with the monarch was desirable,
even upon unworthy terms. He was somewhat shocked that so valiant and
eloquent a supporter of the Reformation should coolly express his opinion
that the King would probably refuse liberty of conscience to the
Netherlanders, but would, no doubt, permit heretics to go into
banishment. "Perhaps, after we have gone into exile," added Saint
Aldegonde, almost with baseness, "God may give us an opportunity of doing
such good service to the King, that he will lend us a more favorable ear,
and, peradventure, permit our return to the country."
Certainly, such language was not becoming the pen which wrote the famous
Compromise. The Prince himself was, however, not to be induced, even by
the captivity and the remonstrances of so valued a friend, to swerve from
the path of duty. He still maintained, in public and private, that the
withdrawal of foreign troops from the provinces, the restoration of the
old constitutional privileges, and the entire freedom of conscience in
religious matters, were the indispensable conditions of any pacification.
It was plain to him that the Spaniards were not ready to grant these
conditions; but he felt confident that he should accomplish the release
of Saint Aldegonde without condescending to an ignominious peace.
The most pressing matter, upon the Great Commander's arrival, was
obviously to relieve the city of Middelburg. Mondragon, after so stanch a
defence, would soon be obliged to capitulate, unless he should promptly
receive supplies. Requesens, accordingly, collected seventy-five ships at
Bergen op Zoom; which were placed nominally under the command of Admiral
de Glimes, but in reality under that of Julian Romero. Another fleet of
thirty vessels had been assembled at Antwerp under Sancho d'Avila. Both,
amply freighted with provisions, were destined to make their way to
Middelburg by the two different passages of the Hondo and the Eastern
Scheld. On the other hand, the Prince of Orange had repaired to Flushing
to superintend the operations of Admiral Boisot, who already; in
obedience to his orders, had got a powerful squadron in readiness at that
place. Late in January, 1574, d'Avila arrived in the neighbourhood of
Flushing, where he awaited the arrival of Romero's fleet. United, the two
Commanders were to make a determined attempt to reinforce the starving
city of Middelburg. At the same time, Governor Requesens made his
appearance in person at Bergen op Zoom to expedite the departure of the
stronger fleet, but it was not the intention of the Prince of Orange to
allow this expedition to save the city. The Spanish generals, however
valiant, were to learn that their genius was not amphibious, and that the
Beggars of the Sea were still invincible on their own element, even if
their brethren of the land had occasionally quailed.
Admiral Boisot's fleet had already moved up the Scheld and taken a
position nearly opposite to Bergen op Zoom. On the 20th of January the
Prince of Orange, embarking from Zierick Zee, came to make them a visit
before the impending action. His galley, conspicuous for its elegant
decorations, was exposed for some time to the artillery of the fort, but
providentially escaped unharmed. He assembled all the officers of his
armada, and, in brief but eloquent language, reminded them how necessary
it was to the salvation of the whole country that they should prevent the
city of Middelburg--the key to the whole of Zealand, already upon the
point of falling into the hands of the patriots--from being now wrested
from their grasp. On the sea, at least, the Hollanders and Zealanders
were at home. The officers and men, with one accord, rent the air with
their cheers. They swore that they would shed every drop of blood in
their veins but they would sustain the Prince and the country; and they
solemnly vowed not only to serve, if necessary, without wages, but to
sacrifice all that they possessed in the world rather than abandon the
cause of their fatherland. Having by his presence and his language
aroused their valor to so high a pitch of enthusiasm, the Prince departed
for Delft, to make arrangements to drive the Spaniards from the siege of
Leyden.
On the 29th of January, the fleet of Romero sailed from Bergen, disposed
in three divisions, each numbering twenty-five vessels of different
sizes. As the Grand Commander stood on the dyke of Schakerloo to witness
the departure, a general salute was fired by the fleet in his honor, but
with most unfortunate augury. The discharge, by some accident, set fire
to the magazines of one of the ships, which blew up with a terrible
explosion, every soul on board perishing. The expedition, nevertheless,
continued its way. Opposite Romerswael, the fleet of Boisot awaited them,
drawn up in battle array. As an indication of the spirit which animated
this hardy race, it may be mentioned that Schot, captain of the
flag-ship, had been left on shore, dying of a pestilential fever. Admiral
Boisot had appointed a Flushinger, Klaaf Klaafzoon, in his place. Just
before the action, however, Schot, "scarcely able to blow a feather from
his mouth," staggered on board his ship, and claimed the command.
There was no disputing a precedency which he had risen from his death-bed
to vindicate. There was, however, a short discussion, as the enemy's
fleet approached, between these rival captains regarding the manner in
which the Spaniards should be received. Klaafzoon was of opinion that
most of the men should go below till after the enemy's first discharge.
Schot insisted that all should remain on deck, ready to grapple with the
Spanish fleet, and to board them without the least delay.
The sentiment of Schot prevailed, and all hands stood on deck, ready with
boarding-pikes and grappling-irons.
The first division of Romero came nearer, and delivered its first
broadside, when Schot and Klaafzoon both fell mortally wounded. Admiral
Boisot lost an eye, and many officers and sailors in the other vessels
were killed or wounded. This was, however, the first and last of the
cannonading. As many of Romero's vessels as could be grappled within the
narrow estuary found themselves locked in close embrace with their
enemies. A murderous hand-to-hand conflict succeeded. Battle-axe,
boarding-pike, pistol, and dagger were the weapons. Every man who yielded
himself a prisoner was instantly stabbed and tossed into the sea by the
remorseless Zealanders. Fighting only to kill, and not to plunder, they
did not even stop to take the gold chains which many Spaniards wore on
their necks. It had, however, been obvious from the beginning that the
Spanish fleet were not likely to achieve that triumph over the patriots
which was necessary before they could relieve Middelburg. The battle
continued a little longer; but after fifteen ships had been taken and
twelve hundred royalists slain, the remainder of the enemy's fleet
retreated into Bergen. Romero himself, whose ship had grounded, sprang
out of a port-hole and swam ashore, followed by such of his men as were
able to imitate him. He landed at the very feet of the Grand Commander,
who, wet and cold, had been standing all day upon the dyke of Schakerloo,
in the midst of a pouring rain, only to witness the total defeat of his
armada at last.
"I told your Excellency," said Romero, coolly, as he climbed, all
dripping, on the bank, "that I was a land-fighter and not a sailor. If
you were to give me the command of a hundred fleets, I believe that none
of them would fare better than this has done." The Governor and his
discomfited, but philosophical lieutenant, then returned to Bergen, and
thence to Brussels, acknowledging that the city of Middelburg must fall,
while Sancho d'Avila, hearing of the disaster which had befallen his
countrymen, brought his fleet, with the greatest expedition, back to
Antwerp. Thus the gallant Mondragon was abandoned to his fate.
That fate could no longer be protracted. The city of Middelburg had
reached and passed the starvation point. Still Mondragon was determined
not to yield at discretion, although very willing to capitulate. The
Prince of Orange, after the victory of Bergen, was desirous of an
unconditional surrender, believing it to be his right, and knowing that
he could not be supposed capable of practising upon Middelburg the
vengeance which had been wreaked on Naarden, Zutfen, and Harlem.
Mondragon, however, swore that he would set fire to the city in twenty
places, and perish with every soldier and burgher in the flames together,
rather than abandon himself to the enemy's mercy. The prince knew that
the brave Spaniard was entirely capable of executing his threat. He
granted honorable conditions, which, on the 18th February, were drawn up
in five articles, and signed. It was agreed that Mondragon and his troops
should leave the place, with their arms, ammunition, and all their
personal property. The citizens who remained were to take oath of
fidelity to the Prince, as stadholder for his Majesty, and were to pay
besides a subsidy of three hundred thousand florins. Mondragon was,
furthermore, to procure the discharge of Saint Aldegonde, and of four
other prisoners of rank, or, failing in the attempt, was to return within
two months, and constitute himself prisoner of war. The Catholic priests
were to take away from the city none of their property but their clothes.
In accordance with this capitulation, Mondragon, and those who wished to
accompany him, left the city on the 21st of February, and were conveyed
to the Flemish shore at Neuz. It will be seen in the sequel that the
Governor neither granted him the release of the five prisoners, nor
permitted him to return, according to his parole. A few days afterwards,
the Prince entered the city, re-organized the magistracy, received the
allegiance of the inhabitants, restored the ancient constitution, and
liberally remitted two-thirds of the sum in which they had been, mulcted.
The Spaniards had thus been successfully driven from the Isle of
Walcheren, leaving the Hollanders and Zealanders masters of the
sea-coast. Since the siege of Alkmaar had been raised, however, the enemy
had remained within the territory of Holland. Leyden was closely
invested, the country in a desperate condition, and all communication
between its different cities nearly suspended. It was comparatively easy
for the Prince of Orange to equip and man his fleets. The genius and
habits of the people made them at home upon the water, and inspired them
with a feeling of superiority to their adversaries. It was not so upon
land. Strong to resist, patient to suffer, the Hollanders, although
terrible in defence; had not the necessary discipline or experience to
meet the veteran legions of Spain, with confidence in the open field. To
raise the siege of Leyden, the main reliance of the Prince was upon Count
Louis, who was again in Germany. In the latter days of Alva's
administration, William had written to his brothers, urging them speedily
to arrange the details of a campaign, of which he forwarded them a
sketch. As soon as a sufficient force had been levied in Germany, an
attempt was to be made upon Maestricht. If that failed, Louis was to
cross the Meuse, in the neighbourhood of Stochem, make his way towards
the Prince's own city of Gertruidenberg, and thence make a junction with
his brother in the neighbourhood of Delft. They were then to take up a
position together between Harlem and Leyden. In that case it seemed
probable that the Spaniards would find themselves obliged to fight at a
great disadvantage, or to abandon the country. "In short," said the
Prince, "if this enterprise be arranged with due diligence and
discretion, I hold it as the only certain means for putting a speedy end
to the war, and for driving these devils of Spaniards out of the country,
before the Duke of Alva has time to raise another army to support them."
In pursuance of this plan, Louis had been actively engaged all the
earlier part of the winter in levying troops and raising supplies. He had
been assisted by the French princes with considerable sums of money, as
an earnest of what he was in future to expect from that source. He had
made an unsuccessful attempt to effect the capture of Requesens, on his
way to take the government of the Netherlands. He had then passed to the
frontier of France, where he had held his important interview with
Catharine de Medici and the Duke of Anjou, then on the point of departure
to ascend the throne of Poland. He had received liberal presents, and
still more liberal promises. Anjou had assured him that he would go as
far as any of the German princes in rendering active and sincere
assistance to the Protestant cause in the Netherlands. The Duc
d'Alencon--soon, in his brother's absence, to succeed to the
chieftainship of the new alliance between the "politiques" and the
Huguenots--had also pressed his hand, whispering in his ear, as he did
so, that the government of France now belonged to him, as it had recently
done to Anjou, and that the Prince might reckon upon his friendship with
entire security.
These fine words, which cost nothing when whispered in secret, were not
destined to fructify into a very rich harvest, for the mutual jealousy of
France and England, lest either should acquire ascendency in the
Netherlands, made both governments prodigal of promises, while the common
fear entertained by them of the power of Spain rendered both languid;
insincere, and mischievous allies. Count John, however; was indefatigable
in arranging the finances of the proposed expedition, and in levying
contributions among his numerous relatives and allies in Germany, while
Louis had profited by the occasion of Anjou's passage into Poland, to
acquire for himself two thousand German and French cavalry, who had
served to escort that Prince, and who, being now thrown out of
employment, were glad to have a job offered them by a general who was
thought to be in funds. Another thousand of cavalry and six thousand foot
were soon assembled from those ever-swarming nurseries of mercenary
warriors, the smaller German states. With these, towards the end of
February; Louis crossed the Rhine in a heavy snow-storm, and bent his
course towards Maestricht. All the three brothers of the Prince
accompanied this little army, besides Duke Christopher, son of the
elector Palatine.
Before the end of the month the army reached the Meuse, and encamped
within four miles of Maestricht; on the opposite side of the river. The
garrison, commanded by Montesdoca, was weak, but the news of the warlike
preparations in Germany had preceded the arrival of Count Louis.
Requesens, feeling the gravity of the occasion, had issued orders for an
immediate levy of eight thousand cavalry in Germany, with a proportionate
number of infantry. At the same time he had directed Don Bernardino de
Mendoza, with some companies of cavalry, then stationed in Breda, to
throw himself without delay into Maestricht. Don Sancho d'Avila was
entrusted with the general care of resisting the hostile expedition. That
general had forthwith collected all the troops which could be spared from
every town where they were stationed, had strengthened the cities of
Antwerp, Ghent, Nimweben, and Valenciennes, where there were known to be
many secret adherents of Orange; and with the remainder of his forces had
put himself in motion, to oppose the entrance of Louis into Brabant, and
his junction with his brother in Holland. Braccamonte had been despatched
to Leyden, in order instantly to draw off the forces which were besieging
the city. Thus Louis had already effected something of importance by the
very hews of his approach.
Meantime the Prince of Orange had raised six thousand infantry, whose
rendezvous was the Isle of Bommel. He was disappointed at the paucity of
the troops which Louis had been able to collect, but he sent messengers
immediately to him; with a statement of his own condition, and with
directions to join him in the Isle of Bommel, as soon as Maestricht
should be reduced. It was, however, not in the destiny of Louis to reduce
Maestricht. His expedition had been marked with disaster from the
beginning. A dark and threatening prophecy had, even before its
commencement, enwrapped Louis, his brethren, and his little army, in a
funeral pall. More than a thousand of his men had deserted before he
reached the Meuse. When he encamped, apposite Maestricht, he found the
river neither frozen nor open, the ice obstructing the navigation, but
being too weak for the weight of an army. While he was thus delayed and
embarrassed, Mendoza arrived in the city with reinforcements. It seemed
already necessary for Louis to abandon his hopes of Maestricht, but he
was at least desirous of crossing the river in that neighbourhood, in
order to effect his junction with the Prince at the earliest possible
moment. While the stream was still encumbered with ice, however, the
enemy removed all the boats. On, the 3rd of March, Avila arrived with a
large body of troops at Maestricht, and on the 18th Mendoza crossed the
river in the night, giving the patriots so severe an 'encamisada', that
seven hundred were killed, at the expense of only seven of his own party.
Harassed, but not dispirited by these disasters, Louis broke up his camp
on the 21st, and took a position farther down the river, at Fauquemont
and Gulpen, castles in the Duchy of Limburg. On the 3rd of April,
Braccamonite arrived at Maestricht, with twenty-five companies of
Spaniards and three of cavalry, while, on the same day Mondragon reached
the scene of action with his sixteen companies of veterans.
It was now obvious to Louis, not only that he should not take Maestricht,
but that his eventual junction with his brother was at least doubtful,
every soldier who could possibly be spared seeming in motion to oppose
his progress. He was, to be sure, not yet outnumbered, but the enemy was
increasing, and his own force diminishing daily. Moreover, the Spaniards
were highly disciplined and experienced troops; while his own soldiers
were mercenaries, already clamorous and insubordinate. On the 8th of
April he again shifted his encampment, and took his course along the
right bank of the Meuse, between that river and the Rhine, in the
direction of Nimwegen. Avila promptly decided to follow him upon the
opposite bank of the Meuse, intending to throw himself between Louis and
the Prince of Orange, and by a rapid march to give the Count battle,
before he could join his brother. On the 8th of April, at early dawn,
Louis had left the neighbourhood of Maestricht, and on the 13th he
encamped at the village of Mook near the confines of Cleves. Sending out
his scouts, he learned to his vexation, that the enemy had outmarched
him, and were now within cannonshot. On the 13th, Avila had constructed a
bridge of boats, over which he had effected the passage of the Meuse with
his whole army, so that on the Count's arrival at Mook, he found the
enemy facing him, on the same side of the river, and directly in his
path. It was, therefore, obvious that, in this narrow space between the
Waal and the Meuse, where they were now all assembled, Louis must achieve
a victory, unaided, or abandon his expedition, and leave the Hollanders
to despair. He was distressed at the position in which he found himself,
for he had hoped to reduce Maestricht, and to join, his brother in
Holland. Together, they could, at least, have expelled the Spaniards from
that territory, in which case it was probable that a large part of the
population in the different provinces would have risen. According to
present aspects, the destiny of the country, for some time to come, was
likely to hang upon the issue of a battle which he had not planned, and
for which he was not fully prepared. Still he was not the man to be
disheartened; nor had he ever possessed the courage to refuse a battle
when: offered. Upon this occasion it would be difficult to retreat
without disaster and disgrace, but it was equally difficult to achieve a
victory. Thrust, as he was, like a wedge into the very heart of a hostile
country, he was obliged to force his way through, or to remain in his
enemy's power. Moreover, and worst of all, his troops were in a state of
mutiny for their wages. While he talked to them of honor, they howled to
him for money. It was the custom of these mercenaries to mutiny on the
eve of battle--of the Spaniards, after it had been fought. By the one
course, a victory was often lost which might have been achieved; by the
other, when won it was rendered fruitless.
Avila had chosen his place of battle with great skill. On the right bank
of the Meuse, upon a narrow plain which spread from the river to a chain
of hills within cannon-shot on the north, lay the little village of Mook.
The Spanish general knew that his adversary had the superiority in
cavalry, and that within this compressed apace it would not be possible
to derive much advantage from the circumstance.
On the 14th, both armies were drawn up in battle array at earliest dawn,
Louis having strengthened his position by a deep trench, which extended
from Mook, where he had stationed ten companies of infantry, which thus
rested on the village and the river. Next came the bulk of his infantry,
disposed in a single square. On their right was his cavalry, arranged in
four squadrons, as well as the narrow limits of the field would allow. A
small portion of them, for want of apace, were stationed on the hill
side.
Opposite, the forces of Don Sancho were drawn up in somewhat similar
fashion. Twenty-five companies of Spaniards were disposed in four bodies
of pikemen and musketeers; their right resting on the river. On their
left was the cavalry, disposed by Mendoza in the form of a half moon-the
horns garnished by two small bodies of sharpshooters. In the front ranks
of the cavalry were the mounted carabineers of Schenk; behind were the
Spanish dancers. The village of Mook lay between the two armies.
The skirmishing began at early dawn, with an attack upon the trench, and
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.
Meantime, affairs in the city were more difficult to adjust. The
mutineers raised an altar of chests and bales upon the public square, and
celebrated mass under the open sky, solemnly swearing to be true to each
other to the last. The scenes of carousing and merry-making were renewed
at the expense of the citizens, who were again exposed to nightly alarms
from the boisterous mirth and ceaseless mischief-making of the soldiers.
Before the end of the month; the Broad Council, exhausted by the incubus
which had afflicted them so many weeks, acceded to the demand of
Requesens. The four hundred thousand crowns were furnished, the Grand
Commander accepting them as a loan, and giving in return bonds duly
signed and countersigned, together with a mortgage upon all the royal
domains. The citizens received the documents, as a matter of form, but
they had handled such securities before, and valued them but slightly.
The mutineers now agreed to settle with the Governor-General, on
condition of receiving all their wages, either in cash or cloth, together
with a solemn promise of pardon for all their acts of insubordination.
This pledge was formally rendered with appropriate religious ceremonies,
by Requesens, in the cathedral. The payments were made directly
afterwards, and a great banquet was held on the same day, by the whole
mass of the soldiery, to celebrate the event. The feast took place on the
place of the Meer, and was a scene of furious revelry. The soldiers, more
thoughtless than children, had arrayed themselves in extemporaneous
costumes, cut from the cloth which they had at last received in payment
of their sufferings and their blood. Broadcloths, silks, satins, and
gold-embroidered brocades, worthy of a queen's wardrobe, were hung in
fantastic drapery around the sinewy forms and bronzed faces of the
soldiery, who, the day before, had been clothed in rags. The mirth was
fast and furious; and scarce was the banquet finished before every
drum-head became a gaming-table, around which gathered groups eager to
sacrifice in a moment their dearly-bought gold.
The fortunate or the prudent had not yet succeeded in entirely plundering
their companions, when the distant booming of cannon was heard from the
river. Instantly, accoutred as they were in their holiday and fantastic
costumes, the soldiers, no longer mutinous, were summoned from banquet
and gaming-table, and were ordered forth upon the dykes. The patriot
Admiral Boisot, who had so recently defeated the fleet of Bergen, under
the eyes of the Grand Commander, had unexpectedly sailed up the Scheld,
determined to destroy the fleet of Antwerp, which upon that occasion had
escaped. Between, the forts of Lillo and Callao, he met with twenty-two
vessels under the command of Vice-Admiral Haemstede. After a short and
sharp action, he was completely victorious. Fourteen of the enemy's ships
were burned or sunk, with all their crews, and Admiral Haemstede was
taken prisoner. The soldiers opened a warm fire of musketry upon Boisot
from the dyke, to which he responded with his cannon. The distance of the
combatants, however, made the action unimportant; and the patriots
retired down the river, after achieving a complete victory. The Grand
Commander was farther than ever from obtaining that foothold on the sea,
which as he had informed his sovereign, was the only means by which the
Netherlands could be reduced.