on the floor? I won't harm you, my sweet little dove. You ought to
be a queen, the absolute ruler of this good ship of ours. That's war
for you. Someone has to strike their colours. Someone else gets to
fly them from the flagpole. Poor Antonio! He predicted this--for him
the grave, for me the beautiful bounty; I love you. I love you, star
of Flanders, white rose of Antwerp. I love you and you're mine--stop
ruffling your hair, don't look so wild--you're mine and no-one's going
to take you from me!"
"Jan! Jan! Help! Rescue me!" cried the maiden, without knowing what
it was she was shouting.
"Forget about your sea beggar," whispered Leone. "Has he not had his
revenge on us? Will not poor Antonio be dead within the hour? Why are
you so bothered about the body of this sea beggar? Leave him to drift
with the tide. Get up. Get up, I say. You shouldn't be injuring your
chaste brow by banging it on the floor. What can I say? The sea
beggar's dead. Antonio Valani is dying. Take Leone, Leone who is still
alive, in the blessed arms of his proud and beautiful queen."
"Mercy! Mercy!" stammered the maiden, but the lieutenant merely laughed:
"Listen, one o'clock! At five o'clock we cast off. Till then you have
all the time you want to moan as much as you want, but then away with
sighs and complaining. Antonio, poor friend, between now and five
you've time enough to die. Don't sit up. Lie down. Your wounds are
bleeding again. Lie down. What business of yours is the girl?"
"Leone, Leone, look after the ship! Beware the black galley. Look
after the ship!" the dying man screamed in his delirium.
"Who cares about the black galley?" muttered Leone della Rota. "The
chase will only begin at five o'clock. Calm down, Antonio, calm down.
Everything is as it should be on board. No worries. Sleep. Go to
sleep."
Once again the captain sank back and closed his eyes. The last wild
burst of excitement was followed immediately by the final moments of
exhaustion. The life of Antonio Valani, captain of the Andrea Doria,
was drawing to a close.
The lieutenant was all too well aware of it. He sighed and shook his
head: "Poor Antonio! Poor friend! Must you set sail so soon? Ah,
what good does it do to moan about it, and yet--I wish that day was
dawning. I wish this long night were over! Once we're out at sea,
once the corpse is overboard, only then will I feel better. I really
do wish that morning were here already!"
He paced up and down in the narrow cabin. More than once he brushed
against the unfortunate Myga and each time she jerked her arms together
and pushed herself nearer to the wall.
"If only I could die," whispered Myga van Bergen. "If only death
would come to save me. Let death embrace me as it embraced Jan."
The oil lamp was threatening to go out. Leone della Rota called for
another light, more wine. He needed both in this dark night. His
soul seemed a wild and desolate place.
VI.
The Black Galley.
On Fort Liefkenhoek the banner embroidered with the lion of Leon
and the towers of Castile flutters proudly. The same banner flies
over Fort Lillo and all the other forts staring into the jaws of
hell on both banks of the Scheldt right up as far as the mighty
walls of the citadel in Antwerp.
Sharp eyes keep watch over all these ramparts and walls, and the
calls and the answering calls of the sentries never stop by day or
by night.
The enemy is also close by and vigilant. He can appear at any
moment. Who knows the hour at which he will come?
All around Zeeland's coastline the North Sea surges. It is here,
on Tholen, on Schouwen, on North and South Beveland, on Walcheren,
that the fearsome men of iron live who were first to swear an
oath that they would rather be Turks than Papists and who wear a
silver half-moon on their hats and carry in their hearts an all
consuming, unquenchable hatred for Spaniards. What children
mothers give birth to on these sea-sprayed sand dunes! Protect
this land, you towers of Castile, keep good watch over the bastion
of Flanders, you lion of Leon. "Better a country spoilt than a
country lost" was the opinion of Zeeland sailors who, from the
defeated Spaniards of Veere and Leyden, tore the hearts from their
chests, bit into them and threw them to their dogs to eat.
"Eat this, bitter though it is!"
On Fort Liefkenhoek, on Fort Lillo, on the Kruisschanze, on Fort
Pearl and San Felipe, on Forts Maria, Ferdinand and Isabella the cry
goes out:
"Keep good watch! Keep good watch!"
The cannons on the Brabant side of the Scheldt and the cannons on
the Flemish side are ready to spit out death and destruction onto
any venturesome vessel that dares to make its way upstream in the
direction of Antwerp.
"Keep good watch! Keep good watch!"
But the night is dark and neither moonlight nor starlight make it
any brighter. It is hard to keep watch well on such a night.
How still and warm it is! Only the roaring of the great river
sounds on and on against the background of the warning cries of
the soldiers on the walls:
"Keep good watch! Keep good watch!"
What is coming from South Beveland towards the western arm of the
Scheldt where river and sea meet up with each other and can no
longer be told apart? What is gliding over the waves under cover
of darkness? It is propelled by a hundred strange arms, flying
swift as an arrow just like the ghost ship, the Flying Dutchman.
A ship's mighty form cuts through the waves and others come after
it, less powerful ones.
What do the men of Zeeland care about darkness? They can find
their way over these waters for these waters are their native
land. One dark shadow comes after another; they sail on in a
straight line--no noise is heard on board, even the rudder runs
noiselessly through the waves. Words of command go from mouth
to mouth in whispers. Each one on board knows what his duty is,
each one is bound by the most solemn of oaths to stick a knife
through his neighbour's jaw if his neighbour, by making a noise
or by crying out thoughtlessly, jeopardizes the success of the
enterprise.
Each one on board will abide by his oath, even were it to mean
that he was thus obliged to stab his own brother, father or son.
A light comes up on the left--Fort Lillo!
A light comes up on the right--Fort Liefkenhoek!
The cries of the Spanish sentries fall clearly and audibly on
every ear on board the black galley and its accompanying convoy.
Each knife, each grappling hook is kept in readiness. The
concealed fuses glimmer near the weapons. The hearts of these
daring men are beating strongly.
"Keep good watch! Keep good watch!" can be heard echoing into
the distance. A great danger lies behind these bold seamen now.
Long live the luck of the sea beggars!
What's that shimmering on the right?
The lights of Dorf and Fort Callao.
What is flickering on the Brabant side of the river?
The lights of the village of Ordam.
How still it is now in this frightful place where the bridge
of Alexander Farnese once stood, the engineering wonder of the
century! What genius once shone here! What blood once flowed
here!
On this spot Giovanni Baptista Plato and Barocci once worked.
On this spot Gianibelli's fireship wreaked havoc and filled the
air, the water and the surrounding countryside with ruins and
mutilated bodies.
Even now, after so many years, many a citizen of Antwerp with
republican sympathies, wakes from sleep at night and thinks he
has been woken up by the crack of a great explosion that might
have been the town's salvation and wasn't.
Soundlessly the black galley glides on over these baleful
waters with its shadowy convoy in tow.
"Keep watch! Keep good watch!" goes the cry from the earthworks
of San Pedro and Santa Barbara.
Behold the lights of Predigerhof, the lights of Fort Maria, the
lights of Fort Ferdinand! A bell, muffled and solemn, chimes
in the darkness--the bell in the tower of Our Lady's church in
Antwerp.
Two o'clock!
The captain of the black galley is at his post, drawn sword in
hand, but another is taking the ship through the darkness of
this night.
Were the slightest beam of light to fall on the face of this
steersman, you would be startled when you saw his face.
Jan Norris, Myga's betrothed, Myga who is still a prisoner on
the Andrea Doria, Jan Norris who has left his love in the power
of his deadliest enemy, Jan Norris who did not jump to his death
from the deck of that Genoese galleon, Jan Norris is steering
the black galley tonight!
The eyes of Jan Norris scan the night, bore through the darkness
as if it were broad daylight.
Jan to the rescue! Jan's revenge!
Watch out, Leone della Rota, the night has mischief in store for
you. Be careful, Leone della Rota, now is not the time to succumb
to the love of a woman and the strong wine of Sicily! Look out
for your ship, Leone della Rota, watch out--watch out for the
black galley!
On board the Andrea Doria all commands had been issued and carried
out. In another three hours the galleon would make its way to the
rendezvous point with the four galleys that had already sailed at
Biervliet and then the chase in pursuit of the black galley would
begin. The crew were using the short respite that had been afforded
them to sleep, even the watch on deck were sleeping and the lantern
of the man on the gangplank had gone out like all the other lights
on board. Was the ship not safe at anchor under the city walls and
the walls of the citadel?
Suspended from the mainmast the ship's lantern throws an unsteady
and flickering light over the deck. From the windows of the cabin
a dim light falls on the dark waters of the Scheldt, which are
streaming past it.
In the cabin Leone della Rota stands up at Antonio Valani's bedside.
"It's over," he says. "He's dead. Can you hear me, bella Fiaminga,
dead and Leone della Rota is captain on this ship. Can you hear me,
my sweet? I'm coming into my own--you too belong to me. With my
friend's last breath you became mine."
Once again Leone filled the tumbler with wine.
"Why do you turn away and tremble, beautiful Myga? He's dead. His
heart has beat its last. But my heart beats like a hammer, out of
control. He was my friend in life. Now, by loving you, I avenge
his death."
He lifted the tumbler and emptied it in one.
"A toast, my poor Antonio--you will have on the high seas the grave
of a noble sailor. They won't be burying you on land in a hurry.
You'll sleep instead below the joyful waves as befits a child of
Genoa. You'll fall asleep in the arms of Neptune's daughter."
"Have pity on me, Lord, let me die. Save me, save me," whimpered
the despairing girl, but Leone, now drunk, laughed aloud shrilly.
"Don't look at me like that, my queen--today you belong to me,
tomorrow you'll belong to someone else--, that's war, that's life.
Do you think I ought to mourn and mumble prayers like a priest over
the corpse of my friend? If we were on the shore of the Ligurian
Sea, we'd weave roses and myrtle into our hair to celebrate the
beauty of the night! In the name of vengeance, in the name of
victory, come into my arms, you wanton beggar woman, come and be
mine, you pretty heretic."
With a shrill cry Myga van Bergen clung to the post of the bed on
which the pale and bloody body of Antonio Valani lay outstretched.
She sought the protection of a dead man! But with a raucous cry
Leone della Rota gathered up the unfortunate woman into his arms.
He covered her mouth and her naked shoulders with burning kisses.
Then there was a thud over his head, so that the lamp hanging from
the ceiling shook with it. A shout! The sound of a struggle. A
second thud. The stamping and tramping of several feet. A wild
scream. The loud report of a musket. A fearsome, unsettling cry:
"The beggars! The beggars! The beggars on board! Treachery!
Treachery! All'arme! All'arme!"
"What's that? Diavolo!" shouted Leone, letting go of the girl and
reaching for his sword. Once more, from his bloody resting place,
the body of Antonio Valani raised itself, once more his eyes opened
wide to stare at his friend:
"Protect the ship. Traitor! Vile good-for-nothing!"
A stream of dark blood shot out of his mouth and Antonio Valani
sank back. Now death truly had him in its grip.
On deck the turmoil after the fall of the first sentry became ever
more widespread and loud. The bewildered crew rushed out with the
first weapons that had come to hand.
"To arms! Treachery! The beggars!"
The sound of oaths, groans, cries for mercy.
Myga van Bergen fell to her knees once again, while Leone, as he
unsheathed his sword, rushed up the cabin stairs. Once on deck
his foot bumped against corpses and the wounded. The fight was
heaving wildly to and fro and a roar of triumph from the Dutch
and the terrific war cry of the beggars: "Sultan before Pope!"
were already beginning to drown out the battle cries of the so
rudely awoken men of Genoa.
And still their enemies were climbing like cats up the hull of
the Andrea Doria. The merchant ships at anchor next to her and
small warships seemed to be in the process of being captured for
from them were coming battle cries and shots and numerous torches
were visible.
In desperation Leone della Rota hurled himself at his nearest
enemy, encouraging his men to resistance with words and actions.
In the sentry box on the quayside a drum came to life and beat
out the Spanish call to arms.
"The sea beggars! The sea beggars! The sea beggars at the
gates of Antwerp! Treachery! Treachery! The sea beggars in
the town itself!"
Torches were seen along the banks of the river and lights soon
appeared in the houses behind the city walls.
"Sultan before Pope! Victory! Victory! The black galley!
The black galley! Victory! Victory!" Such were the shouts of
the beggars on the Andrea Doria carrying all before them. There
was no quarter given. What was not struck or hewn down was
thrown overboard. The very words black galley filled the hearts
of the Italians with terror and broke their courage more than
anything. Some of them fled to dry land, even more of them were
hacked down in the first attack. Around the mainmast, in the
circle of light radiating from the ship's lantern, a group of
men were desperately continuing to fight. Here Leone della Rota
stood side by side with the bravest of his crew and the whole of
what was happening was finally concentrated in this area. The
deck was already slippery with blood and littered with corpses.
Many a wild sea beggar fell to Leone's sword.
"Courage! Courage, brave comrades! To me! Help is coming from
dry land! Courage! Courage!" shouted Leone, striking down a man
from Zeeland, but, where the latter had fallen, a new adversary
appeared, stepping over the fallen one.
"Forward! Forward, you sea beggars! Down with foreign tyrants!
Down with their flag of shame! Take it down from the mast! Do
you know me, you foreign devil, you cowardly abductor of women?"
"Diavolo!" cried Leone, stiff with fright and astonishment, but
he composed himself immediately. "You're not drunk then, you
beggar? So much the better. Feed on this cold steel then.
There!"
"A hit! Myga! Myga! Salvation! Vengeance! Take that, you
dog, to hell with you and greet your comrade-in-arms from me,
Jan Norris, the sea beggar!"
Leone della Rota from Genoa sank to the floor, drenched in his
own blood, and Jan Norris placed his foot on his fallen foe's
chest and shouted in his face:
"Myga has been rescued! The ship has been taken! Tell that
to them in hell!"
With that he stabbed his deadly enemy through the neck with a
long knife.
In the meantime the other Genoans, who had not saved themselves
by running away, had also been killed. The skirmish on the
Andrea Doria was now at an end and already the sea beggars were
busy loosening the chains which bound the ship to the quayside.
Myga van Bergen lay prostrate in the cabin in the arms of Jan
who now carried his betrothed out of that terrible room, away
from the proximity of the dead body of Antonio Valani up into
the freedom of the upper air.
Fighting was still going on on one of the sea-going vessels that
had fallen to the Dutch, but already some of her crew were sliding
into the water, pushed there by the hands of sea beggars and
fiercely and harmoniously the song of the victors resounded through
the night:
William of Nassau,
I am of German blood.
Faithful to my fatherland
I shall remain till death.
The black galley's bugler from the stern of the Andrea Doria was
now blowing the same tune townwards and, revelling in the chorus,
the galley's victorious crew sang for all they were worth:
That you are by the Spaniards,
Oh Netherlands of mine,
Harmed and injured, just to think,
It makes my poor heart bleed.
Even mortally wounded beggars who could no longer sing sat up on
the ground, washed over by these harmonious and solemn sounds, and
moved their lips in time with the words of the song. Myga van
Bergen too was recalled by them to life and she sang, laughing
and crying, held in Jan's arms, the same song of freedom.
"Look, Myga, how I keep my word--I'm taking you home with the
sounds of cannon fire and jubilant bells and a flourish of trumpets
in my ear! Saved! Saved from a fate worse than death!" Jan
Norris was ecstatic.
From the citadel there came the noise of one alarm signal after
another. More and more drums sprang into life along the city's
walls and enclosures to call as many people as possible to the
quayside. And the movements of the great Flanders town became
noisier too and many an oppressed and angry heart beat faster at
the proud, forbidden sounds that rose in response to the Spanish
drumbeats and that grew more insistent as the latter strove to
drown them out. Alarm bells rang from every steeple. And now
there was a commotion in the town and another commotion emanating
out from the citadel towards the quayside. Troops moved along
the city walls. Troops pushed down to the river.
But louder than anything there arose above the tumult:
My hope and my protection
Are you, oh God, my Lord.
On you I want to build more.
Never let me go.
That I may nurture piety
And serve you all the while
By driving out all tyrants
Who wound my loving heart.
Thousands of such hearts heard behind the walls that Paciotti
had built around the town of Antwerp these strains with delight.
Thousands of eyes became moist on hearing their message.
Now there could be no doubt of it. The black galley had performed
its finest feat of arms and all that there was left to do now was
to bring its prize to a place of safety. Under covering fire from
the black galley Jan Norris, now captain on board the Andrea Doria,
reached the middle of the Scheldt and gradually sailed downstream.
Seven smaller vessels taken as prizes sailed along with the beggars'
ships--the black galley brought up the rear.
There was much shooting and firing from the walls of Antwerp and
a return of fire from the beggars' ships and the Andrea Doria was
now sailing downstream under the beggars' colours, its sails
joyously expanded by the morning wind. Don Federigo Spinola was
tearing his hair out at such an unheard of thing!
There was passing fire from all the earthworks and forts along
the river.
Fortune smiled on the beggars! What affair was it of theirs if
the Spaniards aimed well or badly? The wounded below deck, the
dead overboard, the black galley's cannons were in action once
again before Fort Felipe. Boom, boom. Kruisschanze on the
Brabant side of the river.
Now, you men of Holland, look to your laurels, for the last bolt,
but also the strongest, needs to be drawn back.
Down there in the morning mist lies Fort Liefkenhoek.
Down there in the morning mist lies Fort Lillo.
Now, you beggars, take up your weapons, whoever among you still
has the use of his hands and his feet.
Beggars' luck! Beggars' luck!
All was in readiness in Fort Liefkenhoek, for the commander of
the fort had had time enough to give out his orders well in
advance. Captain Jeronimo had woken him at two o'clock in the
morning.
"Well, what is it?" the colonel had asked, and the old veteran
had shrugged his shoulders and said: "It may be a mutiny at
Fort Callao, it may be an uprising in Antwerp, but I'd like you
to come to the battlements anyway, sir." Reluctantly the
commander had appeared on the south-eastern bastion of his fort
and listened for a long time. A quarter of an hour later the
drummer had once again summoned the garrison to the walls, and
an hour later the captain had said: "If I were you, sir, I'd
have all of tonight's sentries shot."
How long had the cannon fire lasted along the Scheldt? It was
no wonder that everything for the reception of the black galley
had been best prepared at Fort Liefkenhoek!
Captain Jeronimo paced darkly up and down before his company and,
as the firing came nearer, he glowered all the more as was his
wont. He had played the game so long that he had grown weary of
it--no, not weary!--, it had become as indifferent to him as
breathing. So Captain Jeronimo had merely shrugged his shoulders
when a messenger on horseback had ridden overland from Fort Pearl
bringing the first detailed account of what had happened on the
river near Antwerp. How grimly his comrades had borne themselves,
but the old soldier who had served under the Dukes of Alba,
Requesens and Farnese had merely turned his back on the messenger
and walked back to his company.
"And do they still think they can force this people into compliance
with them?" he mumbled to himself. "How long already have they
been burying the cream of Spain's youth, the core of its strength
in this muddy ground? I pity my poor fatherland."
The cannon in front of Kruisschanze had interrupted his monologue.
In the morning mist it was starting to softly snow. It was now no
longer possible to see three feet ahead of one.
"Yes, yes," the old soldier mumbled to himself, "fire blindly at
them! Listen. There it is again, that damned tune, the funeral
dirge for the might and land of Spain. Save your powder. You'll
not destroy them with it. Yes, that's right, shoot. Their song
sounds all the clearer for it! We all of us know it off by heart
now."
Through the cannon fire and the blare of Dutch trumpets Captain
Jeronimo hummed to himself:
I am a prince of Orange,
Unharmed up until now,
Who has the king of Spain
Always allowed his due.
He had not got to the end of this ditty when a cannonball landed
in the midst of his company right next to him and six men were
killed by it or knocked to the ground wounded. This cannonball
had come from the Andrea Doria. Jan Norris had opened fire as
he sailed past Fort Liefkenhoek. The fort's cannon answered
immediately in the most uncompromising fashion without, however,
causing the beggars any significant harm.
On the deck of the Andrea Doria Myga van Bergen stood next to her
betrothed. Her eyes were sparkling. What did Spanish cannonballs
matter to her? Above the couple's heads the beggars' flag fluttered
victoriously and Spinola's standard lay torn under their feet.
"Another broadside, lads, that's the way! Fire, fire, fire in
honour of my Myga!" shouted Jan Norris, waving his hat. "There
goes the top gallant mast overboard! Never mind, Myga, my sweet!
Clear water! Clear water! Listen to how the black galley is
surging ahead before Fort Lillo! Sultan before Pope! Clear water!
Empty sea! Sweetest Myga, fair and lovely bride, how much I love
you!"
"Oh Jan, Jan, never was a bride won so proudly! What great things
you have done for me!"
"What things?" laughed Jan Norris. "I merely struck down a foreign
ship's officer and bundled overboard the body of a foreign captain.
The black galley rescued both of us. Long live the black galley!"
"Long live the black galley!" cheered the crew of the Andrea Doria
and, further on to starboard, the black ship itself thundered a
riposte, sailing on under the walls of Fort Lillo.
"Leave me be," said Captain Jeronimo to his comrades, who wanted
to take him below from the ramparts. "Let me die in the open air.
I'll die happier. God be with you, comrades. God be with you all.
Look after yourselves. All I can see are young and youthful faces
around me. Comrades, I wish you more luck than was granted to
Spain's former army here. We did our duty. Dig for us on the
battlefield of Jemmingen, in Mockerheide, near Gembloers and
Antwerp. It is not to our dishonour that we still occupy the
same piece of ground. God be with you, comrades. The old army
is going to its grave. God be with you and with Spain forever.
Poor Spain!"
Captain Jeronimo was dead, and the officers and soldiers of Fort
Liefkenhoek's garrison surrounded him in silence.
The noise of cannon fire had died away. All the Dutch ships had
gone by the enemy Spanish forts with their sea-borne prize. In
the distance the strains of a battle hymn from 1568 were still
audible: