Zapena, a veteran marshal of the camp who had seen much service, and
whose counsels were usually received with deference. But on this
occasion commanders and soldiers were hot for following up their victory.
They cared nothing for the numbers of their enemy, they cried, "The more
infidels the greater glory in destroying them." Delay might after all
cause the loss of the prize, it was eagerly shouted. The archduke ought
to pray that the sun might stand still for him that morning, as for
Joshua in the vale of Ajalon. The foe seeing himself entrapped, with
destruction awaiting him, was now skulking towards his ships, which still
offered him the means of escape. Should they give him time he would
profit by their negligence, and next morning when they reached Nieuport,
the birds would be flown. Especially the leaders of the mutineers of
Diest and Thionville were hoarse with indignation at the proposed delay.
They had not left their brethren, they shouted, nor rallied to the
archduke's banner in order to sit down and dig in the sand like
ploughmen. There was triumph for the Holy Church, there was the utter
overthrow of the heretic army, there was rich booty to be gathered, all
these things were within their reach if they now advanced and smote the
rebels while, confused and panic-stricken, they were endeavouring to
embark in their ships.
While these vehement debates were at the hottest, sails were descried in
the offing; for the archduke's forces already stood upon the edge of the
downs. First one ship, then another and another, moved steadily along
the coast, returning from Nieuport in the direction of Ostend.
This was more than could be borne. It was obvious that the rebels were
already making their escape, and it was urged upon the cardinal that
probably Prince Maurice and the other chieftains were on board one of
those very vessels, and were giving him the slip. With great expedition
it would still be possible to overtake them before the main body could
embark, and the attack might yet be made at the most favourable moment.
Those white sails gleaming in the distance were more eloquent than Zapena
or any other advocate of delay, and the order was given to advance. And
it was exactly at this period that it still lay within the power of the
States' cavalry at Ostend to partially redeem their character, and to
render very effective service. Had four or five hundred resolute
troopers hung upon the rear of the Spanish army now, as it moved toward
Nieuport, they might, by judiciously skirmishing, advancing and
retreating according to circumstances, have caused much confusion, and
certainly have so harassed the archduke as to compel the detachment of a
very considerable force of his own cavalry to protect himself against
such assaults. But the terror was an enduring one. Those horsemen
remained paralyzed and helpless, and it was impossible for the States,
with all their commands or entreaties, to induce them to mount and ride
even a half mile beyond the city gates.
While these events had been occurring in the neighbourhood of Ostend,
Maurice had not been idle at Nieuport. No sooner had Ernest been
despatched on his desperate errand than his brother Lewis Gunther was
ordered by the stadholder to get on horseback and ride through the
quarters of the army. On the previous afternoon there had been so little
thought of an enemy that large foraging parties had gone out from camp in
all directions, and had not returned. Lewis gave notice that a great
battle was to be expected on the morrow, instead of the tranquil
commencement of a leisurely siege, and that therefore no soul was
henceforth to leave the camp, while a troop of horse was despatched at
the first gleam of daylight to scour the country in search of all the
stragglers. Maurice had no thought of retreating, and his first care was
to bring his army across the haven. The arrangements were soon
completed, but it was necessary to wait until nearly low water. Soon
after eight o'clock Count Lewis began to cross with eight squadrons of
cavalry, and partly swimming, partly wading, effected the passage in
safety. The advanced guard of infantry, under Sir Francis Vere--
consisting of two thousand six hundred Englishmen, and two thousand eight
hundred Frisians, with some companies of horse, followed by the battalia
under Solms, and the rearguard under Tempel--then slowly and with
difficulty moved along the same dangerous path with the water as high as
their armpits, and often rising nearly over their heads. Had the
archduke not been detained near the bridge of Leffingen by Ernest's
Scotchmen and Zeelanders during three or four precious hours that
morning; had he arrived, as he otherwise might have done, just as the
States' army--horse, foot, and artillery--was floundering through that
treacherous tide, it would have fared ill for the stadholder and the
republic. But the devotion of Ernest had at least prevented the attack
of the archduke until Maurice and his men stood on dry land.
Dripping from head to foot, but safe and sound, the army had at last
reached the beach at Nieuport. Vere had refused his soldiers permission
to denude themselves in crossing of their shoes and lower garments.
There was no time for that, he said, and they would either earn new
clothes for themselves that day, or never need doublet and hose again
any more in the world. Some hours had elapsed before the tedious and
difficult crossing of infantry, cavalry, artillery, and munition trains
had been accomplished.
Lewis Gunther, with eight squadrons of picked cavalry, including his own
company, Maurice's own, Frederic Henry's own, with Batenburg's arquebus-
men, and other veterans, was first to place himself in battle order on
the beach. His squadrons in iron corslet and morion, and armed with
lances, carbines, and sabres, stretched across from the water to the
downs. He had not been long stationed there when he observed that far
away in the direction of Ostend the beach was growing black with troops.
He believed them at first to be his brother Ernest and his forces
returning victorious from their hazardous expedition, but he was soon
undeceived.
A couple of troopers from Ostend came spurring full gallop along the
strand, and almost breathless with dismay, announced that it was the
whole army of the archduke advancing in line of battle. They were
instantly sent to the rear, without being allowed to speak further, in
order that they might deliver their message in private to the commander-
in-chief. And most terrible were the tidings to which Maurice now
listened in very secret audience. Ernest was utterly defeated, his
command cut to pieces, the triumphant foe advancing rapidly, and already
in full sight. The stadholder heard the tale without flinching, and
having quietly ordered the messengers upon their lives not to open their
lips on the subject to living soul, sent them securely guarded in a boat
on board one of the war-ships in the offing. With perfect cheerfulness
he then continued his preparations, consulting with Vere, on whom he
mainly relied for the marshalling of the army in the coming conflict.
Undecided as he had sometimes shown himself, he was resolute now. He
called no council of war, for he knew not how much might be known or
suspected of the disaster already sustained, and he had fully made up
his mind as to the course to be pursued. He had indeed taken a supreme
resolution. Entirely out of his own breast, without advising with any
man, he calmly gave directions that every war-ship, transport, barge, or
wherry should put to sea at once. As the tide had now been long on the
flood, the few vessels that had been aground--within the harbour were got
afloat, and the whole vast, almost innumerable armada, was soon standing
out to sea. No more heroic decision was ever taken by fighting man.
Sir Francis gave advice that entrenchments should be thrown up on the
north-east, and that instead of advancing towards the enemy they should
await his coming, and refuse the battle that day if possible. The
Englishman, not aware of the catastrophe at Leffingen, which Maurice had
locked up in his own breast, was now informed by the stadholder that
there were to be no entrenchments that day but those of pike and
arquebus. It was not the fault of Maurice that the fate of the
commonwealth had been suspended on a silken thread that morning, but he
knew that but one of two issues was possible. They must fight their way
through the enemy back to Ostend, or perish, every man of them. The
possibility of surrender did not enter his mind, and he felt that it was
better to hasten the action before the news of Ernest's disaster should
arrive to chill the ardour of the troops.
Meantime Lewis Gunther and his cavalry had been sitting motionless upon
their horses on the beach. The enemy was already in full view, and the
young general, most desirous to engage in a preliminary skirmish, sent
repeated messages to the stadholder for permission to advance. Presently
Sir Francis Vere rode to the front, to whom he eagerly urged his request
that the infantry of the vanguard might be, brought up at once to support
him. On the contrary the English general advised that the cavalry should
fall back to the infantry, in order to avoid a premature movement. Lewis
strongly objected to this arrangement, on the ground that the mere
semblance of retreat, thus upon the eve of battle, would discourage all
the troops. But he was over-ruled, for Maurice had expressly enjoined
upon his cousin that morning to defer in all things to the orders of
Vere. These eight squadrons of horse accordingly shifted their position,
and were now placed close to the edge of the sea, on the left flank of
the vanguard, which Vere had drawn up across the beach and in the downs.
On the edge of the downs, on the narrow slip of hard sand above high-
water mark, and on Vere's right, Maurice had placed a battery of six
demi-cannon.
Behind the advance was the battalia, or centre, under command of that
famous fighter, George Everard Solms, consisting of Germans, Swiss,
French, and Walloons. The "New Beggars," as the Walloons were called,
who had so recently surrendered the forts of Crevecoeur and St. Andrew,
and gone over from the archduke's service to the army of the States, were
included in this division, and were as eager to do credit to their new
chief as were the mutineers in the archduke's army to merit the
approbation of their sovereign.
The rearguard under Tempel was made up, like the other divisions,
of the blended nationalities of German, Briton, Hollander, and Walloon,
and, like the others, was garnished at each flank with heavy cavalry.
The Spanish army, after coming nearly within cannon-shot of their
adversary, paused. It was plain that the States' troops were not in so
great a panic as the more sanguine advisers of the archduke had hoped.
They were not cowering among the shipping, preparing to escape. Still
less had any portion of them already effected their retreat in those
vessels, a few of which had so excited the enemy's ardour when they came
in sight. It was obvious that a great struggle, in which the forces were
very evenly balanced, was now to be fought out upon those sands. It was
a splendid tournament--a great duel for life and death between the
champions of the Papacy and of Protestantism, of the Republic and of
absolutism, that was to be fought out that midsummer's day. The lists
were closed. The trumpet signal for the fray would soon be blown.
The archduke, in Milanese armour, on a wonderfully beautiful snow-white
Spanish stallion, moved in the centre of his army. He wore no helmet,
that his men might the more readily recognize him as he rode gallantly to
and fro, marshalling, encouraging, exhorting the troops. Never before
had he manifested such decided military talent, combined with
unquestionable personal valour, as he had done since this campaign began.
Friend and foe agreed that day that Albert fought like a lion. He was at
first well seconded by Mendoza, who led the van, and by Villars, La
Bourlotte, Avalos, Zapena, and many other officers of note. The mutinous
Spanish and Italian cavalry, combined with a few choice squadrons of
Walloon and German horse, were placed in front and on the flanks. They
were under the special supervision of the admiral, who marshalled their
squadrons and directed their charging, although mounted on a hackney
himself, and not intending to participate in the action. Then came the
battalia and rear, crowding very closely upon each other.
Face to face with them stood the republican host, drawn up in great solid
squares of infantry, their standards waving above each closely planted
clump of pikemen, with the musketeers fringing their skirts, while the
iron-clad ponderous cavalry of Count Lewis and Marcellus Bax, in black
casque and, corslet, were in front, restlessly expecting the signal for
the onset. The volunteers of high rank who were then serving on the
staff of the stadholder--the Duke of Holstein, the Prince of Anhalt, two
young Counts Solms, and others--had been invited and even urged to
abandon the field while there was yet time for setting them on board the
fleet. Especially it was thought desirable that young Frederic Henry,
a mere boy, on whom the hopes of the Orange-Nassau house would rest if
Maurice fell in the conflict, should be spared the fate which seemed
hanging over the commonwealth and her defenders. But the son of William
the Silent implored his brother with clasped hands not to send him from
his side at that moment, so that Maurice granted his prayer, and caused
him to be provided with a complete suit of armour. Thus in company with
young Coligny--a lad of his own age, and like himself a grandson of the
great admiral--the youth who was one day to play so noble a part on the
stage of the world's affairs was now to be engaged in his first great
passage of arms. No one left the field but Sir Robert Sidney, who had
come over from Ostend, from irrepressible curiosity to witness the
arrangements, but who would obviously have been guilty of unpardonable
negligence had he been absent at such a crisis from the important post of
which he was governor for the queen.
The arena of the conflict seemed elaborately prepared by the hand of
nature. The hard, level, sandy beach, swept clean and smooth by the
ceaseless action of the tides, stretched out far as the eye could reach
in one long, bold, monotonous line. Like the whole coast of Flanders and
of Holland, it seemed drawn by a geometrical rule, not a cape, cove, or
estuary breaking the perfect straightness of the design. On the right,
just beyond high-water mark, the downs, fantastically heaped together
like a mimic mountain chain, or like tempestuous ocean-waves suddenly
changed to sand, rolled wild and confused, but still in a regularly
parallel course with the line of the beach. They seemed a barrier thrown
up to protect the land from being bitten quite away by the ever-restless
and encroaching sea. Beyond the downs, which were seven hundred yards in
width; extended a level tract of those green fertile meadows,
artificially drained, which are so characteristic a feature of the
Netherland landscapes, the stream which ran from Ostend towards the town
of Nieuport flowing sluggishly through them. It was a bright warm
midsummer day. The waves of the German Ocean came lazily rolling in upon
the crisp yellow sand, the surf breaking with its monotonous music at the
very feet of the armies. A gentle south-west breeze was blowing, just
filling the sails of more than a thousand ships in the offing, which
moved languidly along the sparkling sea. It was an atmosphere better
befitting a tranquil holiday than the scene of carnage which seemed
approaching.
Maurice of Nassau, in complete armour, rapier in hand, with the orange-
plumes waving from his helmet and the orange-scarf across his breast,
rode through the lines, briefly addressing his soldiers with martial
energy. Pointing to the harbour of Nieuport behind them, now again
impassable with the flood, to the ocean on the left where rode the fleet,
carrying with it all hope of escape by sea, and to the army of the
archduke in front, almost within cannon-range, he simply observed that
they had no possible choice between victory and death. They must either
utterly overthrow the Spanish army, he said, or drink all the waters of
the sea. Either drowning or butchery was their doom if they were
conquered, for no quarter was to be expected from their unscrupulous and
insolent foe. He was there to share their fate, to conquer or to perish
with them, and from their tried valour and from the God of battles he
hoped a more magnificent victory than had ever before been achieved in
this almost perpetual war for independence. The troops, perfectly
enthusiastic, replied with a shout that they were ready to live or die
with their chieftain, and eagerly demanded to be led upon the foe.
Whether from hope or from desperation they were confident and cheerful.
Some doubt was felt as to the Walloons, who had so lately transferred
themselves from the archduke's army, but their commander, Marquette, made
them all lift up their hands, and swear solemnly to live or die that day
at the feet of Prince Maurice.
Two hours long these two armies had stood looking each other in the face.
It was near two o'clock when the arch duke at last gave the signal to
advance. The tide was again almost at the full. Maurice stood firm,
awaiting the assault; the enemy slowly coming nearer, and the rising tide
as steadily lapping away all that was left of the hard beach which
fringed the rugged downs. Count Lewis chafed with impatience as it
became each moment more evident that there would be no beach left for
cavalry fighting, while in the downs the manoeuvring of horse was
entirely impossible. Meantime, by command of Vere, all those sandy
hillocks and steeps had been thickly sown with musketeers and pikemen.
Arquebus-men and carabineers were planted in every hollow, while on the
highest and most advantageous elevation two pieces of cannon had been
placed by the express direction of Maurice. It seemed obvious that the
battle would, after all, be transferred to the downs. Not long before
the action began, a private of the enemy's cavalry was taken, apparently
with his own consent, in a very trifling preliminary skirmish. He
bragged loudly of the immense force of the archduke, of the great victory
already gained over Ernest, with the utter annihilation of his forces,
and of the impending destruction of the whole States' army. Strange to
say, this was the first intimation received by Count Lewis of that grave
disaster, although it had been for some hours known to Maurice. The
prisoner was at once gagged, that he might spread his disheartening news
no further, but as he persisted by signs and gestures in attempting to
convey the information which he had evidently been sent forward to
impart, he was shot by command of the stadholder, and so told no further
tales.
The enemy had now come very close, and it was the desire of Count Lewis
that a couple of companies of horse, in accordance with the commands of
Maurice, should charge the cavalry in front, and that after a brief
skirmish they should retreat as if panic-stricken behind the advance
column, thus decoying the Spanish vanguard in hot pursuit towards the
battery upon the edge of the downs. The cannon were then suddenly to
open upon them, and during the confusion sure to be created in their
ranks, the musketeers, ambushed among the hollows, were to attack them
in flank, while the cavalry in one mass should then make a concentrated
charge in front. It seemed certain that the effect of this movement
would be to hurl the whole of the enemy's advance, horse and foot, back
upon his battalia, and thus to break up his army in irretrievable rout.
The plan was a sensible one, but it was not ingeniously executed. Before
the handful of cavalry had time to make the proposed feint the
cannoneers, being unduly excited, and by express command of Sir Francis
Vere, fired a volley into the advancing columns of the archduke. This
precipitated the action; almost in an instant changed its whole
character, and defeated the original plan of the republican leader.
The enemy's cavalry broke at the first discharge from the battery, and
wheeled in considerable disorder, but without panic, quite into and
across the downs. The whole army of the archduke, which had already been
veering in the same direction, as it advanced, both because the tide was
so steadily devouring the even surface of the sands, and because the
position of a large portion of the States' forces among the hillocks
exposed him to an attack in flank, was now rapidly transferred to the
downs. It was necessary for that portion of Maurice's army which still
stood on what remained of the beach to follow this movement. A rapid
change of front was then undertaken, and--thanks to the careful system
of wheeling, marching, and counter-marching in which the army had been
educated by William Lewis and Maurice--was executed with less confusion
than might have been expected.
But very few companies of infantry now remained on the strip of beach
still bare of the waves, and in the immediate vicinity of the artillery
planted high and dry beyond their reach.
The scene was transformed as if by magic, and the battle was now to be
fought out in those shifting, uneven hills and hollows, where every
soldier stood mid-leg deep in the dry and burning sand. Fortunately for
the States' army, the wind was in its back, blowing both sand and smoke
into the faces of its antagonists, while the already weltering sun glared
fiercely in their eyes. Maurice had skilfully made use of the great
advantage which accident had given him that day, and his very refusal to
advance and to bring on a premature struggle thus stood him in stead in a
variety of ways Lewis Gunther was now ordered, with Marcellus Bax and six
squadrons of horse, to take position within the belt of pasture land on
the right of the downs. When he arrived there the van of the archduke's
infantry had already charged the States' advance under Vere, while just
behind and on the side of the musketeers and pikemen a large portion of
the enemy's cavalry was standing stock still on the green. Without
waiting for instructions Lewis ordered a charge. It was brilliantly
successful. Unheeding a warm salutation in flank from the musketeers as
they rode by them, and notwithstanding that they were obliged to take
several ditches as they charged, they routed the enemy's cavalry at the
first onset, and drove them into panic-stricken flight. Some fled for
protection quite to the rear of their infantry, others were hotly pursued
across the meadows till they took refuge under the walls of Nieuport.
The very success of the attack was nearly fatal however to Count Lewis;
for, unable to restrain the ardour of his troopers in the chase, he found
himself cut off from the army with only ten horsemen to support him, and
completely enveloped by the enemy. Fortunately Prince Maurice had
foreseen the danger, and had ordered all the cavalry to the meadows so
soon as the charge was made. Captain Kloet, with a fresh company of
mounted carabineers, marked the little squad of States' cavalry careering
about in the midst of the Catholics, recognized their leader by the
orange-plumes on his calque, and dashed forward to the rescue. Lewis
again found himself at the head of his cavalry, but was obliged to wait
a long time for the return of the stragglers.
While this brilliant diversion had been enacting as it were on the fringe
of the battle, its real bustle and business had been going on in the
downs. Just as Lewis made his charge in the pastures, the infantry of
the archduke and the advance guard of the republicans met in deadly
shock. More than an hour long they contended with varying success.
Musketeers, pikemen, arquebusmen, swordmen, charged, sabred, or shot each
other from the various hollows or heights of vantage, plunging knee-deep
in the sand, torn and impeded by the prickly broom-plant which grew
profusely over the whole surface, and fighting breast to breast and hand
to hand in a vast series of individual encounters. Thrice were the
Spaniards repulsed in what for a moment seemed absolute rout, thrice they
rallied and drove their assailants at push of pike far beyond their
original position; and again the conquered republicans recovered their
energy and smote their adversaries as if the contest were just begun.
The tide of battle ebbed and flowed like the waves of the sea, but it
would be mere pedantry to affect any technical explanation of its various
changes. It was a hot struggle of twenty thousand men, pent up in a
narrow space, where the very nature of the ground had made artistic
evolutions nearly impracticable. The advance, the battalia, even the
rearguard on both sides were mixed together pell-mell, and the downs were
soon covered at every step with the dead and dying-Briton, Hollander,
Spaniard, Italian, Frisian, Frenchman, Walloon, fighting and falling
together, and hotly contesting every inch of those barren sands.
It seemed, said one who fought there, as if the last day of the world had
come.