choice troops of Spain would be enough to make a short war of it, but
nevertheless warned his officers of the dangers of overweening
confidence. He had been informed that the rebels had assumed the red
scarf of the Spanish uniform. He hoped the stratagem would not save them
from broken heads, but was unwilling that his Majesty's badge should be
altered.
He reiterated his commands that no enterprise should be undertaken,
except by the whole army in concert; and enjoined the generals
incontinently to hang and strangle all prisoners the moment they should
be taken.
Marching directly northward, Meghem reached Coeverden, some fifty miles
from Dam, on the night of the 22d. He had informed Aremberg that he
might expect him with his infantry and his light horse in the course of
the next day. On the following morning, the 23d, Aremberg wrote his last
letter to the Duke, promising to send a good account of the beggars
within a very few hours.
Louis of Nassau had broken up his camp at Dam about midnight. Falling
back, in a southerly direction, along the Wold-weg, or forest road, a
narrow causeway through a swampy district, he had taken up a position
some three leagues from his previous encampment. Near the monastery of
Heiliger Lee, or the "Holy Lion," he had chosen his ground. A little
money in hand, ample promises, and the hopes of booty, had effectually
terminated the mutiny, which had also broken out in his camp. Assured
that Meghem had not yet effected his junction with Aremberg, prepared to
strike, at last, a telling blow for freedom and fatherland, Louis awaited
the arrival of his eager foe.
His position was one of commanding strength and fortunate augury.
Heiliger Lee was a wooded eminence, artificially reared by Premonstrant
monks. It was the only rising ground in that vast extent of watery
pastures, enclosed by the Ems and Lippe--the "fallacious fields"
described by Tacitus. Here Hermann, first of Teutonic heroes, had dashed
out of existence three veteran legions of tyrant Rome. Here the spectre
of Varus, begrimed and gory, had risen from the morass to warn
Germanicus, who came to avenge him, that Gothic freedom was a dangerous
antagonist. And now, in the perpetual reproductions of history, another
German warrior occupied a spot of vantage in that same perilous region.
The tyranny with which he contended strove to be as universal as that of
Rome, and had stretched its wings of conquest into worlds of which the
Caesars had never dreamed. It was in arms, too, to crush not only the
rights of man, but the rights of God. The battle of freedom was to be
fought not only for fatherland, but for conscience. The cause was even
holier than that which had inspired the arm of Hermann.
Although the swamps of that distant age had been transformed into
fruitful pastures, yet the whole district was moist, deceitful, and
dangerous. The country was divided into squares, not by hedges but by
impassable ditches. Agricultural entrenchments had long made the country
almost impregnable, while its defences against the ocean rendered almost
as good service against a more implacable human foe.
Aremberg, leading his soldiers along the narrow causeway, in hot pursuit
of what they considered a rabble rout of fugitive beggars, soon reached
Winschoten. Here he became aware of the presence of his despicable foe.
Louis and Adolphus of Nassau, while sitting at dinner in the convent of
the "Holy Lion," had been warned by a friendly peasant of the approach of
the Spaniards. The opportune intelligence had given the patriot general
time to make his preparations. His earnest entreaties had made his
troops ashamed of their mutinous conduct on the preceding day, and they
were now both ready and willing to engage. The village was not far
distant from the abbey, and in the neighborhood of the abbey Louis of
Nassau was now posted. Behind him was a wood, on his left a hill of
moderate elevation, before him an extensive and swampy field. In the
front of the field was a causeway leading to the abbey. This was the
road which Aremberg was to traverse. On the plain which lay between the
wood and the hill, the main body of the beggars were drawn up. They were
disposed in two squares or squadrons, rather deep than wide, giving the
idea of a less number than they actually contained. The lesser square,
in which were two thousand eight hundred men, was partially sheltered by
the hill. Both were flanked by musketeers. On the brow of the hill was
a large body of light armed troops, the 'enfans perdus' of the army. The
cavalry, amounting to not more than three hundred men, was placed in
front, facing the road along which Aremberg was to arrive.
That road was bordered by a wood extending nearly to the front of the
hill. As Aremberg reached its verge, he brought out his artillery, and
opened a fire upon the body of light troops. The hill protected a large
part of the enemy's body from this attack. Finding the rebels so strong
in numbers and position, Aremberg was disposed only to skirmish. He knew
better than did his soldiers the treacherous nature of the ground in
front of the enemy. He saw that it was one of those districts where peat
had been taken out in large squares for fuel, and where a fallacious and
verdant scum upon the surface of deep pools simulated the turf that had
been removed. He saw that the battle-ground presented to him by his
sagacious enemy was one great sweep of traps and pitfalls. Before he
could carry the position, many men must necessarily be engulfed.
He paused for an instant. He was deficient in cavalry, having only
Martinengo's troop, hardly amounting to four hundred men. He was sure of
Meghem's arrival within twenty-four hours. If, then, he could keep the
rebels in check, without allowing them any opportunity to disperse, he
should be able, on the morrow, to cut them to pieces, according to the
plan agreed upon a fortnight before. But the Count had to contend with a
double obstacle. His soldiers were very hot, his enemy very cool. The
Spaniards, who had so easily driven a thousand musketeers from behind
their windmill, the evening before, who had seen the whole rebel force
decamp in hot haste on the very night of their arrival before Dam,
supposed themselves in full career of victory. Believing that the name
alone of the old legions had stricken terror to the hearts of the
beggars, and that no resistance was possible to Spanish arms, they
reviled their general for his caution. His reason for delay was theirs
for hurry. Why should Meghem's loitering and mutinous troops, arriving
at the eleventh hour, share in the triumph and the spoil? No man knew
the country better than Aremberg, a native of the Netherlands, the
stadholder of the province. Cowardly or heretical motives alone could
sway him, if he now held them back in the very hour of victory. Inflamed
beyond endurance by these taunts, feeling his pride of country touched to
the quick, and willing to show that a Netherlander would lead wherever
Spaniards dared to follow, Aremberg allowed himself to commit the grave
error for which he was so deeply to atone. Disregarding the dictates of
his own experience and the arrangements of his superior, he yielded to
the braggart humor of his soldiers, which he had not, like Alva, learned
to moderate or to despise.
In the mean, time, the body of light troops which had received the fire
from the musical pieces of Groningen was seen to waver. The artillery
was then brought beyond the cover of the wood, and pointed more fully
upon the two main squares of the enemy. A few shots told. Soon
afterward the 'enfans perdus' retreated helter-skelter, entirely
deserting their position.
This apparent advantage, which was only a preconcerted stratagem, was too
much for the fiery Spaniards. They rushed. merrily forward to attack the
stationary squares, their general being no longer able, to restrain their
impetuosity. In a moment the whole van-guard had plunged into the
morass. In a few minutes more they were all helplessly and hopelessly
struggling in the pools, while the musketeers of the enemy poured in a
deadly fire upon them, without wetting the soles of their own feet. The
pikemen, too, who composed the main body of the larger square, now
charged upon all who were extricating themselves from their entanglement,
and drove them back again to a muddy death. Simultaneously, the lesser
patriot squadron, which had so long been sheltered, emerged from the
cover of the hill, made a detour around its base, enveloped the rear-
guard of the Spaniards before they could advance to the succor of their
perishing comrades, and broke them to pieces almost instantly. Gonzalo
de Braccamonte, the very Spanish colonel who had been foremost in
denunciation of Aremberg, for his disposition to delay the contest, was
now the first to fly. To his bad conduct was ascribed the loss of the
day. The anger of Alva was so high, when he was informed of the
incident, that he would have condemned the officer to death but for the
intercession of his friends and countrymen. The rout was sudden and
absolute. The foolhardiness of the Spaniards had precipitated them into
the pit which their enemies had dug. The day, was lost. Nothing was
left for Aremberg but to perish with honor. Placing himself at the head
of his handful of cavalry, he dashed into the melee. The shock was
sustained by young Adolphus of Nassau, at the head of an equal number of
riders. Each leader singled out the other. They met as "captains of
might" should do, in the very midst of the affray. Aremberg, receiving
and disregarding a pistol shot from his adversary, laid Adolphus dead at
his feet, with a bullet through his body and a sabre cut on his head.
Two troopers in immediate attendance upon the young Count shared the same
fate from the same hand. Shortly afterward, the horse of Aremberg,
wounded by a musket ball, fell to the ground. A few devoted followers
lifted the charger to his legs and the bleeding rider to his saddle.
They endeavored to bear their wounded general from the scene of action.
The horse staggered a few paces and fell dead. Aremberg disengaged
himself from his body, and walked a few paces to the edge of a meadow
near the road. Here, wounded in the action, crippled by the disease
which had so long tormented him, and scarcely able to sustain longer the
burthen of his armor, he calmly awaited his fate. A troop of the enemy
advanced soon afterwards, and Aremberg fell, covered with wounds,
fighting like a hero of Homer, single-handed, against a battalion, with a
courage worthy a better cause and a better fate. The sword by which he
received his final death-blow was that of the Seigneur do Haultain. That
officer having just seen his brother slain before his eyes, forgot the
respect due to unsuccessful chivalry.
The battle was scarcely finished when an advancing trumpet was heard.
The sound caused the victors to pause in their pursuit, and enabled a
remnant of the conquered Spaniards to escape. Meghem's force was thought
to be advancing. That general had indeed arrived, but he was alone. He
had reached Zuidlaren, a village some four leagues from the scene of
action, on the noon of that day. Here he had found a letter from
Aremberg, requesting him to hasten. He had done so. His troops,
however, having come from Coevorden that morning, were unable to
accomplish so long a march in addition. The Count, accompanied by a few
attendants, reached the neighborhood of Heiliger Lee only in time to meet
with some of the camp sutlers and other fugitives, from whom he learned
the disastrous news of the defeat. Finding that all was lost, he very
properly returned to Zuidlaren, from which place he made the best of his
way to Groningen. That important city, the key of Friesland, he was thus
enabled to secure. The troops which he brought, in addition to the four
German vanderas of Schaumburg, already quartered there, were sufficient
to protect it against the ill-equipped army of Louis Nassau.
The patriot leader had accomplished, after all, but a barren victory.
He had, to be sure, destroyed a number of Spaniards, amounting, according
to the different estimates, from five hundred to sixteen hundred men.
He had also broken up a small but veteran army. More than all, he had
taught the Netherlanders, by this triumphant termination to a stricken
field, that the choice troops of Spain were not invincible. But the
moral effect of the victory was the only permanent one. The Count's
badly paid troops could with difficulty be kept together. He had no
sufficient artillery to reduce the city whose possession would have
proved so important to the cause. Moreover, in common with the Prince of
Orange and all his brethren, he had been called to mourn for the young
and chivalrous Adolphus, whose life-blood had stained the laurels of this
first patriot victory. Having remained, and thus wasted the normal three
days upon the battle-field, Louis now sat down before Groningen,
fortifying and entrenching himself in a camp within cannonshot of the
city.
On the 23rd we have seen that Aremberg had written, full of confidence,
to the Governor-general, promising soon to send him good news of the
beggars. On the 26th, Count Meghem wrote that, having spoken with a man
who had helped to place Aremberg in his coffin, he could hardly entertain
any farther doubt as to his fate.
The wrath of the Duke was even greater than his surprise. Like Augustus,
he called in vain on the dead commander for his legions, but prepared
himself to inflict a more rapid and more terrible vengeance than the
Roman's. Recognizing the gravity of his situation, he determined to take
the field in person, and to annihilate this insolent chieftain who had
dared not only to cope with, but to conquer his veteran regiments. But
before he could turn his back upon Brussels, many deeds were to be done.
His measures now followed each other in breathless succession,
fulminating and blasting at every stroke. On the 28th May, he issued an
edict, banishing, on pain of death, the Prince of Orange, Louis Nassau,
Hoogstraaten, Van den Berg, and others, with confiscation of all their
property. At the same time he razed the Culemburg Palace to the ground,
and erected a pillar upon its ruins, commemorating the accursed
conspiracy which had been engendered within its walls. On the 1st June,
eighteen prisoners of distinction, including the two barons Batenburg,
Maximilian Kock, Blois de Treslong and others, were executed upon the
Horse Market, in Brussels. In the vigorous language of Hoogstraaten,
this horrible tragedy was enacted directly before the windows of that
"cruel animal, Noircarmes," who, in company of his friend, Berlaymont,
and the rest of the Blood-Council, looked out upon the shocking
spectacle. The heads of the victims were exposed upon stakes, to which
also their bodies were fastened. Eleven of these victims were afterward
deposited, uncoffined, in unconsecrated ground; the other seven were left
unburied to moulder on the gibbet. On the 2d June, Villars, the leader
in the Daalem rising, suffered on the scaffold, with three others. On
the 3d, Counts Egmont and Horn were brought in a carriage from Ghent to
Brussels, guarded by ten companies of infantry and one of cavalry. They
were then lodged in the "Brood-huis" opposite the Town Hall, on the great
square of Brussels. On the 4th, Alva having, as he solemnly declared
before God and the world, examined thoroughly the mass of documents
appertaining to those two great prosecutions which had only been closed
three days before, pronounced sentence against the illustrious
prisoners. These documents of iniquity signed and sealed by the Duke,
were sent to the Blood-Council, where they were read by Secretary Praets.
The signature of Philip was not wanting, for the sentences had been drawn
upon blanks signed by the monarch, of which the Viceroy had brought a
whole trunk full from Spain. The sentence against Egmont declared very
briefly that the Duke of Alva, having read all the papers and evidence in
the case, had found the Count guilty of high treason. It was proved that
Egmont had united with the confederates; that he had been a party to the
accursed conspiracy of the Prince of Orange; that he had taken the rebel
nobles under his protection, and that he had betrayed the Government and
the Holy Catholic Church by his conduct in Flanders. Therefore the Duke
condemned him to be executed by the sword on the following day, and
decreed that his head should be placed on high in a public place, there
to remain until the Duke should otherwise direct. The sentence against
Count Horn was similar in language and purport.
That afternoon the Duke sent for the Bishop of Ypres, The prelate arrived
at dusk. As soon as he presented himself, Alva informed him of the
sentence which had just been pronounced, and ordered him to convey the
intelligence to the prisoners. He further charged him with the duty of
shriving the victims, and preparing their souls for death. The bishop
fell on his knees, aghast at the terrible decree. He implored the
Governor-General to have mercy upon the two unfortunate nobles. If their
lives could not be spared, he prayed him at any rate to grant delay.
With tears and earnest supplications the prelate endeavored to avert or
to postpone the doom which had been pronounced. It was in vain. The
sentence, inflexible as destiny, had been long before ordained. Its
execution had been but hastened by the temporary triumph of rebellion in
Friesland. Alva told the Bishop roughly that he had not been summoned to
give advice. Delay or pardon was alike impossible. He was to act as
confessor to the criminals, not as councillor to the Viceroy. The
Bishop, thus rebuked, withdrew to accomplish his melancholy mission.
Meanwhile, on the same evening, the miserable Countess of Egmont had been
appalled by rumors, too vague for belief, too terrible to be slighted.
She was in the chamber of Countess Aremberg, with whom she had come to
condole for the death of the Count, when the order for the immediate
execution of her own husband was announced to her. She hastened to the
presence of the Governor-General. The Princess Palatine, whose ancestors
had been emperors, remembered only that she was a wife and a mother. She
fell at the feet of the man who controlled the fate of her husband, and
implored his mercy in humble and submissive terms. The Duke, with calm
and almost incredible irony, reassured the Countess by the information
that, on the morrow, her husband was certainly to be released. With this
ambiguous phrase, worthy the paltering oracles of antiquity, the wretched
woman was obliged to withdraw. Too soon afterward the horrible truth of
the words was revealed to her--words of doom, which she had mistaken for
consolation.
An hour before midnight the Bishop of Ypres reached Egmont's prison.
The Count was confined in a chamber on the second story of the Brood-huis,
the mansion of the crossbowmen's guild, in that corner of the building
which rests on a narrow street running back from the great square.
He was aroused from his sleep by the approach of his visitor. Unable to
speak, but indicating by the expression of his features the occurrence of
a great misfortune, the Bishop, soon after his entrance, placed the paper
given to him by Alva in Egmont's hands. The unfortunate noble thus
suddenly received the information that his death-sentence had been
pronounced, and that its execution was fixed for the next morning.
He read the paper through without flinching, and expressed astonishment
rather than dismay at its tidings. Exceedingly sanguine by nature, he
had never believed, even after his nine months' imprisonment, in a fatal
termination to the difficulties in which he was involved. He was now
startled both at the sudden condemnation which had followed his lingering
trial, and at the speed with which his death was to fulfil the sentence.
He asked the Bishop, with many expressions of amazement, whether pardon
was impossible; whether delay at least might not be obtained? The
prelate answered by a faithful narrative of the conversation which had
just occurred between Alva and himself. Egmont, thus convinced of his
inevitable doom, then observed to his companion, with exquisite courtesy,
that, since he was to die, he rendered thanks both to God and to the Duke
that his last moments were to be consoled by so excellent a father
confessor.
Afterwards, with a natural burst of indignation, he exclaimed that it was
indeed a cruel and unjust sentence. He protested that he had never in
his whole life wronged his Majesty; certainly never so deeply as to
deserve such a punishment. All that he had done had been with loyal
intentions. The King's true interest had been his constant aim.
Nevertheless, if he had fallen into error, he prayed to God that his
death might wipe away his misdeeds, and that his name might not be
dishonored, nor his children brought to shame. His beloved wife and
innocent children were to endure misery enough by his death and the
confiscation of his estates. It was at least due to his long services
that they should be spared further suffering. He then asked his father
confessor what advice he had to give touching his present conduct. The
Bishop replied by an exhortation, that he should turn himself to God;
that he should withdraw his thoughts entirely from all earthly interests,
and prepare himself for the world beyond the grave. He accepted the
advice, and kneeling before the Bishop, confessed himself. He then asked
to receive the sacrament, which the Bishop administered, after the
customary mass. Egmont asked what prayer would be most appropriate at
the hour of execution. His confessor replied that there was none more
befitting than the one which Jesus had taught his disciples--Our Father,
which art in heaven.
Some conversation ensued, in which the Count again expressed his
gratitude that his parting soul had been soothed by these pious and
friendly offices. By a revulsion of feeling, he then bewailed again the
sad fate of his wife and of his young children. The Bishop entreated him
anew to withdraw his mind from such harrowing reflections, and to give
himself entirely to God. Overwhelmed with grief, Egmont exclaimed with
natural and simple pathos--"Alas! how miserable and frail is our nature,
that, when we should think of God only, we are unable to shut out the
images of wife and children."
Recovering from his emotion, and having yet much time, he sat down and
wrote with perfect self-possession two letters, one to Philip and one to
Alva. The celebrated letter to the King was as follows:
"SIRE,--I have learned, this evening, the sentence which your
Majesty has been pleased to pronounce upon me. Although I have
never had a thought, and believe myself never to have done a deed,
which could tend to the prejudice of your Majesty's person or
service, or to the detriment of our true ancient and Catholic
religion, nevertheless I take patience to bear that which it has
pleased the good God to send. If, during these troubles in the
Netherlands, I have done or permitted aught which had a different
appearance, it has been with the true and good intent to serve God
and your Majesty, and the necessity of the times. Therefore, I pray
your Majesty to forgive me, and to have compassion on my poor wife,
my children, and my servants; having regard to my past services.
In which hope I now commend myself to the mercy of God.
"From Brussels,
"Ready to die, this 5th June, 1568,
"Your Majesty's very humble and loyal vassal and servant,
"LAMORAL D'EGMONT."
Having thus kissed the murderous hand which smote him, he handed the
letter, stamped rather with superfluous loyalty than with Christian
forgiveness, to the Bishop, with a request that he would forward it to
its destination, accompanied by a letter from his own hand. This duty
the Bishop solemnly promised to fulfil.
Facing all the details of his execution with the fortitude which belonged
to his character, he now took counsel with his confessor as to the
language proper for him to hold from the scaffold to the assembled
people. The Bishop, however, strongly dissuaded him from addressing the
multitude at all.