A RESCUE
At twelve o'clock on the following day Ned went to the town hall,
and on stating that he was the bearer of an order from the Council,
was at once shown into the chamber in which three of the magistrates
were sitting.
"I am the bearer of an order from the Council for the delivery to
me of the persons of the Countess Von Harp, her daughter, and the
woman arrested in company with them for conveyance to Brussels,
there to answer the charges against them. This is the order of
the Council with their seal, ordering all magistrates to render
assistance to me as one of their servants. This is the special
order for the handing over to me of the prisoners named."
The magistrates took the first order, glanced at it and at the seal,
and perfectly satisfied with this gave a casual glance at that for
the transferring of the prisoners.
"I think you were about a year since with Councillor Von Aert?" one
of the magistrates said. Ned bowed. "By the way, did I not hear
that you were missing, or that some misfortune had befallen you
some months since? I have a vague recollection of doing so."
"Yes. I was sorely maltreated by a band of robber peasants who left
me for dead, but as you see I am now completely recovered."
"I suppose you have some men with you to escort the prisoners?"
one of the magistrates asked.
"Assuredly," Ned replied. "I have with me three men, behind whom
the women will ride."
The magistrates countersigned the order upon the governor of the
prison to hand over the three prisoners, and gave it with the letter
of the Council to Ned. He bowed and retired.
"I should not have remembered him again," the magistrate who had
been the chief speaker said after he had left the room, "had it not
been for that villainous cast in his eyes. I remember noticing it
when he was here last time, and wondered that Von Aert should like
to have a man whose eyes were so crossways about him; otherwise I
do not recall the face at all, which is not surprising seeing that
I only saw him for a minute or two, and noticed nothing but that
abominable squint of his."
Ned walked back to his inn, ordered his horse to be saddled at two
o'clock, and partook of a hearty meal. Then paying his reckoning
he went out and mounted his horse. As he did so three men in green
doublets and red hose rode up and took their places behind him.
On arriving at the prison he dismounted, and handing his horse to
one of his followers entered.
"I have an order from the Council, countersigned by the magistrates
here, for the delivery to me of three prisoners."
The warder showed him into a room.
"The governor is ill," he said, "and confined to his bed; but I
will take the order to him."
Ned was pleased with the news, for he thought it likely that Genet
might have been there before on similar errands, and his person be
known to the governor. In ten minutes the warder returned.
"The prisoners are without," he said, "and ready to depart."
Pulling his bonnet well down over his eyes, Ned went out into the
courtyard.
"You are to accompany me to Brussels, countess," he said gruffly.
"Horses are waiting for you without."
The countess did not even glance at the official who had thus come
to convey her to what was in all probability death, but followed
through the gate into the street. The men backed their horses up
to the block of stone used for mounting. Ned assisted the females
to the pillions, and when they were seated mounted his own horse
and led the way down the street. Many of the people as they passed
along groaned or hooted, for the feeling in Maastricht was strongly
in favour of the patriot side, a feeling for which they were some
years later to be punished by almost total destruction of the city,
and the slaughter of the greater portion of its inhabitants.
Ned paid no attention to these demonstrations, but quickening his
horse into a trot rode along the street and out of the gate of the
city. As the road was a frequented one, he maintained his place
at the head of the party until they had left the city nearly two
miles behind them. On arriving at a small crossroad one of the
men said: "This is the way, sir; it is up this road that the cart
is waiting." Ned now reined back his horse to the side of that on
which the countess was riding.
"Countess," he said, "have you forgotten the English lad you aided
a year ago in Brussels?"
The countess started.
"I recognize you now, sir," she said coldly; "and little did I
think at that time that I should next see you as an officer of the
Council of Blood."
Ned smiled.
"Your mistake is a natural one, countess; but in point of fact
I am still in the service of the Prince of Orange, and have only
assumed this garb as a means of getting you and your daughter out
of the hands of those murderers. I am happy to say that you are free
to go where you will; these good fellows are like myself disguised,
and are at your service. In a few minutes we shall come to a cart
which will take you wheresoever you like to go, and there are
disguises similar to those with which you once fitted me out in
readiness for you there."
The surprise of the countess for a moment kept her silent; but
Gertrude, who had overheard what was said, burst into exclamations
of delight.
"Pardon me for having doubted you," the countess exclaimed, much
affected.
"No pardon is required, countess. Seeing that the prison authorities
handed you over to me, you could not but have supposed that I was
as I seemed, in the service of the Council."
Just at this moment they came upon a cart drawn up by the roadside.
Ned assisted the countess and her daughter to alight, and while
he was rendering similar assistance to the old servant, mother and
daughter threw themselves into each other's arms, and wept with
delight at this unexpected delivery that had befallen them. It was
some time before they were sufficiently recovered to speak.
"But how do you come here?" the countess asked Ned, "and how have
you effected this miracle?"
Ned briefly related how he had heard of their captivity, and the
manner in which he had been enabled to effect their escape.
"And now, countess," he said, "the day is wearing on, and it is
necessary that you should at once decide upon your plans. Will you
again try to make to the German frontier or to the sea coast, or
remain in hiding here?"
"We cannot make for Germany without again crossing the Maas," the
countess said, "and it is a long way to the sea coast. What say
you, Magdalene?"
"I think," the old woman said, "that you had best carry out the
advice I gave before. It is a little more than twelve miles from
here to the village where, as I told you, I have relations living.
We can hire a house there, and there is no chance of your being
recognized. I can send a boy thence to Brussels to fetch the jewels
and money you left in charge of your friend the Count Von Dort
there."
"That will certainly be the best way, Magdalene. We can wait there
until either there is some change in the state of affairs, or until
we can find some safe way of escape. It is fortunate, indeed, that
I left my jewels in Brussels, instead of taking them with me as I
had at first intended.
"It will hardly be necessary, will it," she asked Ned, "to put on
the disguises, for nothing in the world can be simpler than our
dresses at present?"
"You had certainly best put the peasant cloaks and caps on.
Inquiries are sure to be made all through the country when they
find at Maastricht how they have been tricked. Three peasant women
in a cart will attract no attention whatever, even in passing through
villages; but, dressed as you are now, some one might notice you
and recall it if inquiries were made."
The three men who had aided in the scheme had ridden off as soon as
the cart was reached, and Ned, being anxious that the party should
be upon their way, and desirous, too, of avoiding the expressions
of gratitude of the three women, hurried them into the cart. It was
not necessary for them to change their garments, as the peasant's
cloaks completely enveloped them, and the high headdresses quite
changed their appearance.
"Do not forget, countess, I hope some day to see you in England,"
Ned said as they took their seats.
"I will not forget," the countess said; "and only wish that at
present I was on my way thither."
After a warm farewell, and seeing the cart fairly on its way,
Ned mounted his horse and rode northwest. He slept that night at
Heerenthals, and on the following night at Bois le Duc. Here he
sold his horse for a few crowns, and taking boat proceeded down
the Dommel into the Maas, and then on to Rotterdam. On his arrival
at Delft he was heartily welcomed by the prince; who was greatly
pleased to hear that he had, without any accident or hitch, carried
out successfully the plan he had proposed to himself. Three weeks
later the prince heard from his correspondent at Maastricht. The
letter was cautiously worded, as were all those interchanged, lest
it should fall into the hands of the Spanish.
"There has been some excitement here. A week since a messenger
arrived from Brussels with orders that three female prisoners
confined here should be sent at once to Brussels; but curiously
enough it was found that the three prisoners in question had been
handed over upon the receipt of a previous order. This is now
pronounced to be a forgery, and it is evident that the authorities
have been tricked. There has been much search and inquiry, but no
clue whatever has been obtained as to the direction taken by the
fugitives, or concerning those engaged in this impudent adventure."
Alva's reign of terror and cruelty was now drawing to an end. His
successor was on his way out, and the last days of his administration
were embittered by his failure of his plans, the retreat of his
army from before Alkmaar, and the naval defeat from the Zuider Zee.
But he continued his cruelties to the end. Massacres on a grand
scale were soon carried on, and a nobleman named Uitenhoove, who
had been taken prisoner, was condemned to be roasted to death before
a slow fire, and was accordingly fastened by a chain to a stake,
around which a huge fire was kindled; he suffered in slow torture
a long time until despatched by the executioner with a spear, a
piece of humanity that greatly angered the duke.
Alva had contracted an enormous amount of debt, both public and
private, in Amsterdam, and now caused a proclamation to be issued
that all persons having demands upon him were to present their
claims on a certain day. On the previous night he and his train
noiselessly took their departure. The heavy debts remained unpaid,
and many opulent families were reduced to beggary. Such was the
result of the confidence of the people of Amsterdam in the honour
of their tyrant.
On the 17th of November Don Louis de Requesens, Grand Commander of
St. Jago, Alva's successor, arrived in Brussels; and on the 18th
of December the Duke of Alva left. He is said to have boasted, on
his way home, that he had caused 18,000 inhabitants of the provinces
to be executed during the period of his government. This was,
however, a mere nothing to the number who had perished in battle,
siege, starvation, and massacre. After the departure of their tyrant
the people of the Netherlands breathed more freely, for they hoped
that under their new governor, there would be a remission in the
terrible agony they had suffered; and for a time his proclamations
were of a conciliatory nature. But it was soon seen that there was
no change in policy. Peace was to be given only on the condition
of all Protestants recanting or leaving their country.
The first military effort of the new governor was to endeavour
to relieve the city of Middleburg, the capital of the Island of
Walcheren, which had long been besieged by the Protestants. Mondragon
the governor was sorely pressed by famine, and could hold out but
little longer, unless rescue came. The importance of the city was
felt by both parties. Requesens himself went to Bergen op Zoom, where
seventy-five ships were collected under the command, nominally, of
Admiral de Glines, but really under that of Julian Romero, while
another fleet of thirty ships was assembled at Antwerp, under D'Avila,
and moved down towards Flushing, there to await the arrival of
that of Romero. Upon the other hand, the Prince of Orange collected
a powerful fleet under the command of Admiral Boisot, and himself
paid a visit to the ships, and assembling the officers roused them
to enthusiasm by a stirring address.
On the 20th of January the Good Venture again entered the port of
Delft; and hearing that a battle was expected in a few days, Captain
Martin determined to take part in it. As soon as he had unloaded
his cargo he called the crew together and informed them of his
determination, but said that as this was no quarrel of theirs, any
who chose could remain on shore until his return.
But Englishmen felt that the cause of Holland was their own, and
not a single man on board availed himself of this permission. Ned
informed the Prince of Orange of his father's intention, and asked
leave to accompany him.
"Assuredly you may go if you please," the prince said; "but I fear
that, sooner or later, the fortune of war will deprive me of you,
and I should miss you much. Moreover, almost every sailor in port
is already in one or other of Boisot's ships; and I fear that,
with your weak crew, you would have little chance if engaged with
one of these Spanish ships full of men."
"We have enough to work our cannon, sir," Ned said; "besides,
I think we may be able to beat up some volunteers. There are many
English ships in port waiting for cargoes, which come in but slowly,
and I doubt not that some of them will gladly strike a blow against
the Spaniards."
Ned and Peters accordingly went round among the English vessels,
and in the course of two hours had collected a hundred volunteers.
In those days every Englishman regarded a Spaniard as a natural
enemy. Drake and Hawkins, and other valiant captains, were warring
fiercely against them in the Indian seas, and officers and men
in the ships in Delft were alike eager to join in the forthcoming
struggle against them.
The Good Venture had, flying the Dutch flag, joined Boisot's fleet
at Romerswael, a few miles below Bergen, on the 27th of January; and
when the Hollanders became aware of the nationality of the vessel
which had just joined them, they welcomed them with tremendous
cheers. Two days later the fleet of Romero were seen coming down
the river in three divisions. When the first of the Spanish ships
came near they delivered a broadside, which did considerable execution
among the Dutch fleet. There was no time for further cannonading.
A few minutes later the fleets met in the narrow channel, and the
ships grappling with each other, a hand to hand struggle began.
The fighting was of the most desperate character; no quarter was
asked or given on either side, and men fought with fury hand to
hand upon decks slippery with blood. But the combat did not last
long. The Spaniards had little confidence in themselves on board
ship. Their discipline was now of little advantage to them, and the
savage fury with which the Zeelanders fought shook their courage.
Fifteen ships were speedily captured and 1200 Spaniards slain, and
the remainder of the fleet, which, on account of the narrowness
of the passage had not been able to come into action, retreated to
Bergen.
Romero himself, whose ship had grounded, sprang out of a porthole
and swam ashore, and landed at the very feet of the Grand Commander, who
had been standing all day upon the dyke in the midst of a pouring
rain, only to be a witness of the total defeat of his fleet. Mondragon
now capitulated, receiving honourable conditions. The troops were
allowed to leave the place with their arms, ammunition, and personal
property, and Mondragon engaged himself to procure the release of
Sainte Aldegonde and four other prisoners of rank, or to return
and give himself up as a prisoner of war.
Requesens, however, neither granted the release of the prisoners,
nor permitted Mondragon to return. It was well for these prisoners,
that Bossu was in the hands of the prince. Had it not been for this
they would have all been put to death.
With the fall of Middleburg the Dutch and Zeelanders remained
masters of the entire line of sea coast, but on land the situation
was still perilous. Leyden was closely invested, and all communications
by land between the various cities suspended. The sole hope that
remained was in the army raised by Count Louis.
He had raised 3000 cavalry and 6000 infantry, and, accompanied by
the prince's other two brothers, crossed the Rhine in a snowstorm
and marched towards Maastricht. The Prince of Orange had on his
part with the greatest difficulty raised 6000 infantry, and wrote
to Count Louis to move to join him in the Isle of Bommel after he
had reduced Maastricht. But the expedition, like those before it,
was destined to failure. A thousand men deserted, seven hundred
more were killed in a night surprise, and the rest were mutinous
for their pay. Finally, Count Louis found himself confronted by a
force somewhat inferior in numbers to his own.
But the Spanish infantry were well disciplined and obedient, those
of Louis were mercenaries and discontented; and although at first
his cavalry gained an advantage, it was a short one, and after a
fierce action his army was entirely defeated. Count Louis, finding
that the day was lost, gathered a little band of troopers, and
with his brother, Count Henry, and Christopher, son of the Elector
Palatine, charged into the midst of the enemy. They were never
heard of more. The battle terminated in a horrible butchery. At
least 4000 men were either killed in the field, suffocated in the
marshes, drowned in the river, or burned in the farmhouses in which
they had taken refuge. Count Louis, and his brother and friend,
probably fell on the field, but stripped of their clothing,
disfigured by wounds and the trampling of horses, their bodies were
never recognized.
The defeat of the army and the death of his two brave brothers was
a terrible blow to the Prince of Orange. He was indeed paying dear
for his devotion to his country. His splendid fortune had been
entirely spent, his life had been one of incessant toil and anxiety,
his life had been several times threatened with assassination, he
had seen his every plan thwarted. Save on the sandy slip of coast
by the ocean, the whole of the Netherlands was still prostrate
beneath the foot of the Spaniard; and now he had lost two of his
brothers. England and France had alternately encouraged and stood
aloof from him, and after all these efforts and sacrifices the
prospects of ultimate success were gloomy in the extreme.
Fortunately the Spaniards were not able to take full advantage of
their victory over the army of Count Louis. They differed from the
German mercenaries inasmuch that while the latter mutinied before
they fought, the Spaniards fought first and mutinied afterwards.
Having won a great battle, they now proceeded to defy their generals.
Three years' pay were due to them, and they took the steps that
they always adopted upon these occasions. A commander called the
"Eletto" was chosen by acclamation, a board of councillors was
appointed to assist and control him, while the councillors were
narrowly watched by the soldiers. They crossed the Maas and marched
to Antwerp.
The Grand Commander hastened there to meet them, and when
they arrived in perfect military order he appeared before them on
horseback and made them an oration, promising that their demands
should be satisfied. The soldiers simply replied, "We want money,
not words." Requesens consulted the City Council and demanded 400,000
crowns to satisfy the troops. The citizens hesitated at providing
so enormous an amount, knowing by past experience that it would
never be repaid. The soldiers, however, employed their usual
methods. They quartered themselves upon the houses of the citizens,
and insisted upon being supplied with rich food, wine, and luxuries
of all kinds; and in a week or two the burghers saw that they must
either pay or be ruined.
An offer was accordingly made of ten months' arrears in cash, five
months in silks and woolen cloths, and the rest in promises to be
fulfilled within a few days. The Eletto declared that he considered
the terms satisfactory, whereupon the troops at once deposed him
and elected another. Carousing and merry making went on at the
expense of the citizens, and after suffering for some weeks from
the extortions and annoyance of the soldiers, the 400,000 crowns
demanded by Requesens were paid over, and the soldiers received all
their pay due either in money or goods. A great banquet was held
by the whole mass of soldiery, and there was a scene of furious
revelry. The soldiers arrayed themselves in costumes cut from the
materials they had just received. Broadcloths, silks, satins, and
gold embroidered brocades were hung in fantastic drapery over their
ragged garments, and when the banquet was finished gambling began.
But when they were in the midst of their revelry the sound of cannon
was heard. Boisot had sailed up the Scheldt to attack the fleet
of D'Avila, which had hastened up to Antwerp for refuge after the
defeat of Romero. There was a short and sharp action, and fourteen
of the Spanish ships were burnt or sunk. The soldiers swarmed down
to the dyke and opened a fire of musketry upon the Dutch. They
were, however, too far off to effect any damage, and Boisot, with
a few parting broadsides, sailed triumphantly down the river, having
again struck a heavy blow at the naval power of Spain.
The siege of Leyden had been raised when Count Louis crossed the
Rhine, the troops being called in from all parts to oppose his
progress. The Prince of Orange urged upon the citizens to lose
no time in preparing themselves for a second siege, to strengthen
their walls, and, above all, to lay in stores of provisions. But,
as ever, the Dutch burghers, although ready to fight and to suffer
when the pinch came, were slow and apathetic unless in the face of
necessity; and in spite of the orders and entreaties of the prince,
nothing whatever was done, and the Spaniards when they returned
before the city on the 26th of May, after two months' absence,
found the town as unprepared for resistance as it had been at their
first coming, and that the citizens had not even taken the trouble
to destroy the forts that they had raised round it.
Leyden stood in the midst of broad and fruitful pastures reclaimed
from the sea; around were numerous villages, with blooming gardens
and rich orchards. Innumerable canals cut up the country, and entering
the city formed its streets. These canals were shaded with trees,
crossed by a hundred and forty-five bridges. Upon an artificial
elevation in the centre of the city rose a ruined tower of great
antiquity, assigned either to the Saxons before they crossed to
England or with greater probability to the Romans.
The force which now appeared before the town consisted of
8000 Walloons and Germans, commanded by Valdez. They lost no time
in taking possession of the Hague, and all the villages and forts
round Leyden. Five hundred English volunteers under command of
Colonel Chester abandoned the fort of Valkenberg which had been
intrusted to them and fled towards Leyden. Not as yet had the
English soldiers learnt to stand before the Spaniards, but the time
was ere long to come when, having acquired confidence in themselves,
they were to prove themselves more than a match for the veterans
of Spain. The people of Leyden refused to open their gates to
the fugitives, and they surrendered to Valdez. As at that moment
a mission was on the point of starting from Requesens to Queen
Elizabeth, the lives of the prisoners were spared, and they were
sent back to England.