century of wrongs, hope, fury, and despair; these were the real elements
contending with each other that summer's day. It was a mere trial of
ferocity and endurance, not more scientific than a fight between packs of
wolves and of bloodhounds.
No doubt the brunt of the conflict fell upon Vere, with his Englishmen
and Frisians, for this advance-guard made up nearly one-half of the
States' army actually engaged. And most nobly, indefatigably, did the
hardy veteran discharge his duty. Having personally superintended almost
all the arrangements in the morning, he fought all day in the front,
doing the work both of a field-marshal and a corporal.
He was twice wounded, shot each time through the same leg, yet still
fought on as if it were some one else's blood and not his own that was
flowing from "those four holes in his flesh." He complained that he was
not sufficiently seconded, and that the reserves were not brought up
rapidly enough to his support. He was manifestly unjust, for although
it could not be doubted that the English and the Frisians did their best,
it was equally certain that every part of the army was as staunch as the
vanguard. It may be safely asserted that it would not have benefited the
cause of the States, had every man been thrown into the fight at one and
the same moment.
During this "bloody bit," as Vere called it, between the infantry on both
sides, the little battery of two field-pieces planted on the highest
hillock of the downs had been very effective. Meantime, while the
desperate and decisive struggle had been going on, Lewis Gunther, in the
meadow, had again rallied all the cavalry, which, at the first stage of
the action, had been dispersed in pursuit of the enemy's horse.
Gathering them together in a mass, he besought Prince Maurice to order
him to charge. The stadholder bade him pause yet a little longer. The
aspect of the infantry fight was not yet, in his opinion, sufficiently
favourable. Again and again Lewis sent fresh entreaties, and at last
received the desired permission. Placing three picked squadrons in
front, the young general made a furious assault upon the Catholic
cavalry, which had again rallied and was drawn up very close to the
musketeers. Fortune was not so kind to him as at the earlier stage of
the combat. The charge was received with dauntless front by the Spanish
and Italian horse, while at the same moment the infantry poured a severe
fire into their assailants. The advancing squadrons faltered, wheeled
back upon the companies following them, and the whole mass of the
republican cavalry broke into wild and disorderly retreat. At the same
moment the archduke, observing his advantage, threw in his last reserves
of infantry, and again there was a desperate charge upon Vere's wearied
troops, as decisive as the counter charge of Lewis's cavalry had been
unsuccessful. The English and Frisians, sorely tried during those hours
of fighting with superior numbers in the intolerable heat, broke at last
and turned their backs upon the foe. Some of them fled panic-stricken
quite across the downs and threw themselves into the sea, but the mass
retreated in a comparatively orderly manner, being driven from one down
to another, and seeking a last refuge behind the battery placed on the
high-water line of the beach. In the confusion and panic Sir Francis
Vere went down at last. His horse, killed by a stray shot fell with and
upon him, and the heroic Englishman would then and there have finished
his career--for he would hardly have found quarter from the Spaniards--
had not Sir Robert Drury, riding by in the tumult, observed him as he lay
almost exhausted in the sand. By his exertion and that of his servant
Higham, Vere was rescued from his perilous situation, placed on the
crupper of Sir Robert's horse, and so borne off the field.
The current of the retreating and pursuing hosts swept by the spot where
Maurice sat on horseback, watching and directing the battle. His bravest
and best general, the veteran Vere, had fallen; his cousin Lewis was now
as utterly overthrown as his brother Ernest had been but a few hours
before at the fatal bridge of Leffingen; the whole army, the only army,
of the States was defeated, broken, panic-struck; the Spanish shouts of
victory rang on every side. Plainly the day was lost, and with it the
republic. In the blackest hour that the Netherland commonwealth had ever
known, the fortitude of the stadholder did not desert him. Immoveable
as a rock in the torrent he stemmed the flight of his troops. Three
squadrons of reserved cavalry, Balen's own, Vere's own, and Cecil's, were
all that was left him, and at the head of these he essayed an advance.
He seemed the only man on the field not frightened; and menacing,
conjuring, persuading the fugitives for the love of fatherland, of
himself and his house, of their own honour, not to disgrace and destroy
themselves for ever; urging that all was not yet lost, and beseeching
them at least to take despair for their master, and rather to die like
men on the field than to drown like dogs in the sea, he succeeded in
rallying a portion of those nearest him. The enemy paused in their mad
pursuit, impressed even more than were the States' troops at the
dauntless bearing of the prince. It was one of those supreme moments
in battle and in history which are sometimes permitted to influence the
course of events during a long future. The archduke and his generals
committed a grave error in pausing for an instant in their career. Very
soon it was too late to repair the fault, for the quick and correct eye
of the stadholder saw the point to which the whole battle was tending,
and he threw his handful of reserved cavalry, with such of the fugitives
as had rallied, straight towards the battery on the beach.
It was arranged that Balen should charge on the strand, Horace Vere
through the upper downs, and Cecil along the margin of the beach. Balen
rode slowly through the heavy sand, keeping his horses well in wind, and
at the moment he touched the beach, rushed with fury upon the enemy's
foot near the battery. The moment was most opportune, for the last shot
had been fired from the guns, and they had just been nearly abandoned in
despair. The onset of Balen was successful: the Spanish infantry, thus
suddenly attached, were broken, and many were killed and taken. Cecil
and Vere were equally fortunate, so that the retreating English and
Frisians began to hold firm again. It was the very crisis of the battle,
which up to that instant seemed wholly lost by the republic, so universal
was the overthrow and the flight. Some hundred and fifty Frisian pikemen
now rallied from their sullen retreat, and drove the enemy off one
hillock or dune.
Foiled in their attempt to intercept the backward movement of the States'
army and to seize this vital point and the artillery with it, the
Spaniards hesitated and were somewhat discouraged. Some Zeeland sailors,
who had stuck like wax to those demi-cannon during the whole conflict,
now promptly obeyed orders to open yet once more upon the victorious foe.
At the first volley the Spaniards were staggered, and the sailors with a
lively shout of "Ian-fall on," inspired the defeated army with a portion
of their own cheerfulness. Others vehemently shouted victory without any
reason whatever. At that instant Maurice ordered a last charge by those
few cavalry squadrons, while the enemy was faltering under the play of
the artillery. It was a forlorn hope, yet such was the shifting fortune
of that memorable day that the charge decided the battle. The whole line
of the enemy broke, the conquered became the victors, the fugitives
quickly rallying and shouting victory almost before they had turned their
faces to the foe, became in their turn the pursuers. The Catholic army
could no longer be brought to a stand, but fled wildly in every
direction, and were shot and stabbed by the republicans as they fled.
The Admiral of Arragon fell with his hackney in this last charge.
Unwounded, but struggling to extricate himself from his horse that had
been killed, he was quickly surrounded by the enemy.
Two Spaniards, Mendo and Villalobos by name, who had recently deserted
to the States, came up at the moment and recognised the fallen admiral.
They had reason to recognise him, for both had been in his service, and
one of them, who was once in immediate household attendance upon him,
bore the mark of a wound which he had received from his insolent master.
"Admiral, look at this," cried Villalobos, pointing to the scar on his
face. The admiral looked and knew his old servants, and gave his scarf
to the one and the hanger of his sword-belt to the other, as tokens that
he was their prisoner. Thus his life was saved for heavy ransom, of
which those who had actually captured him would receive a very trifling
portion. The great prisoner was carried to the rear, where he
immediately asked for food and drink, and fell to with an appetite,
while the pursuit and slaughter went on in all directions.
The archduke, too, whose personal conduct throughout the day was
admirable, had been slightly wounded by a halberd stroke on the ear.
This was at an earlier stage of the action, and he had subsequently
mounted another horse, exchanged his splendid armour for a plain black
harness, over which he wore a shabby scarf. In the confusion of the rout
he was hard beset. "Surrender, scoundrel!" cried a Walloon pikeman,
seizing his horse by the bridle. But a certain Flemish Captain Kabbeljaw
recognising his sovereign and rushing to his rescue, slew his assailant
and four others with his own hand. He was at last himself killed, but
Albert escaped, and, accompanied by the Duke of Aumale, who was also
slightly wounded, by Colonel La Bourlotte, and half a dozen troopers rode
for their life in the direction of Bruges. When they reached the fatal
bridge of Leffingen, over which the archduke had marched so triumphantly
but a few hours before to annihilate Count Ernest's division, he was
nearly taken prisoner. A few soldiers, collected from the scattered
garrisons, had occupied the position, but knowing nothing of the result
of the action in the downs, took to their heels and fled as the little
party of cavaliers advanced. Had the commander at Ostend or the States-
General promptly sent out a company or two so soon as the news of the
victory reached them to seize this vital point, the doom of the archduke
would have been sealed. Nothing then could have saved him from capture.
Fortunately escaping this danger, he now pushed on, and never pulled
bridle till he reached Bruges. Thence without pausing he was conveyed to
Ghent, where he presented himself to the Infanta. He was not accompanied
by the captive Maurice of Nassau, and the curiosity of the princess to
know how that warrior would demean himself as a prisoner was not destined
on this occasion to be gratified.
Isabella bore the disappointment and the bitter intelligence of the
defeat with a stoicism worthy of her departed father. She had already
had intimations that the day was going against her army, and had
successively received tidings that her husband was killed, was
dangerously wounded, was a prisoner; and she was now almost relieved
to receive him, utterly defeated, but still safe and sound.
Meantime the mad chase continued along the beach and through the downs.
Never was a rout more absolute than that of Albert's army. Never had so
brilliant a victory been achieved by Hollander or Spaniard upon that
great battleground of Europe--the Netherlands.
Maurice, to whom the chief credit of the victory was unquestionably due,
had been firm and impassive during the various aspects of the battle,
never losing his self-command when affairs seemed blackest. So soon,
however, as the triumph, after wavering so long, was decided in his
favour--the veteran legions of Spain and Italy, the picked troops of
Christendom, all flying at last before his troops--the stadholder was
fairly melted. Dismounting from his horse, he threw himself on his knees
in the sand, and with streaming eyes and uplifted hands exclaimed,
"O God, what are we human creatures to whom Thou hast brought such
honour, and to whom Thou hast vouchsafed such a victory!"
The slaughter went on until nightfall, but the wearied conquerors were
then obliged to desist from the pursuit. Three thousand Spaniards were
slain and about six hundred prisoners were taken. The loss of the
States' army; including the affair in the morning at Leffingen, was about
two thousand killed. Maurice was censured for not following up his
victory more closely, but the criticism seems unjust. The night which
followed the warm summer's day was singularly black and cloudy, the army
was exhausted, the distance for the enemy to traverse before they found
themselves safe within their own territory was not great. In such
circumstances the stadholder might well deem himself sufficiently
triumphant to have plucked a splendid victory out of the very jaws of
death. All the artillery of the archduke--seven pieces besides the two
captured from Ernest in the morning--one hundred and twenty standards,
and a long list of distinguished prisoners, including the Admiral Zapena
and many other officers of note, were the trophies of the conqueror.
Maurice passed the night on the battle-field; the admiral supping with
him in his tent. Next morning he went to Ostend, where a great
thanksgiving was held, Uytenbogart preaching an eloquent sermon on the
116th Psalm. Afterwards there was a dinner at the house of the States-
General, in honour of the stadholder, to which the Admiral of Arragon was
likewise bidden. That arrogant but discomfited personage was obliged to
listen to many a rough martial joke at his disaster as they sat at table,
but he bore the brunt of the encounter with much fortitude.
"Monsieur the Admiral of Arragon," said the stadholder in French, "is
more fortunate than many of his army. He has been desiring these four
years to see Holland. Now he will make his entrance there without
striking a blow." The gibe was perhaps deficient in delicacy towards a
fallen foe, but a man who had passed a whole winter in murdering his
prisoners in cold blood might be satisfied if he were stung only by a
sharp sarcasm or two, when he had himself become a captive.
Others asked him demurely what he thought of these awkward apprentices
of Holland and Zeeland, who were good enough at fighting behind dykes and
ramparts of cities, but who never ventured to face a Spanish army in the
open field. Mendoza sustained himself with equanimity however, and found
plenty of answers. He discussed the battle with coolness, blamed the
archduke for throwing the whole of his force prematurely into the
contest, and applauded the prudence of Maurice in keeping his reserves in
hand. He ascribed a great share of the result to the States' artillery,
which had been well placed upon wooden platforms and well served, while
the archduke's cannon, sinking in the sands, had been of comparatively
little use. Especially he expressed a warm admiration for the heroism of
Maurice in sending away his ships, and in thus leaving himself and his
soldiers no alternative but death or triumph.
While they still sat at table many of the standards taken from the enemy
were brought in and exhibited; the stadholder and others amusing
themselves with reading the inscriptions and devices emblazoned upon
them.
And thus on the 2nd July, 1600, the army of the States-General, led by
Maurice of Nassau, had utterly defeated Albert of Austria.
["Enfin l'affaire vint auix mains et fut combattu bien furieusement
de deux costes l'espace de deux heures. Enfin Dieu par sa grace
voulut que la victoire demeura de more coste." Such were the simple
words in which Maurice announced to his cousin Lewis William his
victory in the most important battle that had been fought for half a
century. Not even General Ulysses Grant could be more modest in the
hour of immense triumph.]
Strange to say--on another 2nd July, three centuries and two years
before, a former Albert of Austria had overthrown the emperor Adolphus of
Nassau, who had then lost both crown and life in the memorable battle of
Worms. The imperial shade of Maurice's ancestor had been signally
appeased.
In Ostend, as may well be imagined, ineffable joy had succeeded to the
horrible gloom in which the day had been passed, ever since the tidings
had been received of Ernest's overthrow.
Those very cavalry men, who had remained all day cowering behind the
walls of the city, seeing by the clouds of dust which marked the track of
the fugitives that the battle had been won by the comrades whom they had
so basely deserted in the morning, had been eager enough to join in the
pursuit. It was with difficulty that the States, who had been unable to
drive them out of the town while the fight was impending or going on,
could keep enough of them within the walls to guard the city against
possible accident, now that the work was done. Even had they taken the
field a few hours earlier, without participating in the action, or
risking their own lives, they might have secured the pass of Leffingen,
and made the capture of the archduke or his destruction inevitable.
The city, which had seemed deserted, swarmed with the garrison and with
the lately trembling burghers, for it seemed to all as if they had been
born again. Even the soldiers on the battle-field had embraced each
other like comrades who had met in another world. "Blessed be His holy
name," said the stadholder's chaplain, "for His right hand has led us
into hell and brought us forth again. I know not," he continued, "if I
am awake or if I dream, when I think how God has in one moment raised us
from the dead."
Lewis Gunther, whose services had been so conspicuous, was well rewarded.
"I hope," said that general, writing to his brother Lewis William, "that
this day's work will not have been useless to me, both for what I have
learned in it and for another thing. His Excellency has done me
the honour to give me the admiral for my prisoner." And equally
characteristic was the reply of the religious and thrifty stadholder
of Friesland.
"I thank God," he said, "for His singular grace in that He has been
pleased to make use of your person as the instrument of so renowned and
signal a victory, for which, as you have derived therefrom not mediocre
praise, and acquired a great reputation, it should be now your duty to
humble yourself before God, and to acknowledge that it is He alone who
has thus honoured you . . . . You should reverence Him the more, that
while others are admonished of their duty by misfortunes and miseries,
the good God invites you to His love by benefits and honours . . . .
I am very glad, too, that his Excellency has given you the admiral for
your prisoner, both because of the benefit to you, and because it is a
mark of your merit on that day. Knowing the state of our affairs, you
will now be able to free your patrimony from encumbrances, when otherwise
you would have been in danger of remaining embarrassed and in the power
of others. It will therefore be a perpetual honour to you that you, the
youngest of us all, have been able by your merits to do more to raise up
our house out of its difficulties than your predecessors or myself have
been able to do."
The beautiful white horse which the archduke had ridden during the battle
fell into the hands of Lewis Gunther, and was presented by him to Prince
Maurice, who had expressed great admiration of the charger. It was a
Spanish horse, for which the archduke had lately paid eleven hundred
crowns.
A white hackney of the Infanta had also been taken, and became the
property of Count Ernest.
The news of the great battle spread with unexampled rapidity, not only
through the Netherlands but to neighbouring countries. On the night of
the 7th July (N.S.) five days after the event, Envoy Caron, in England,
received intimations of the favourable news from the French ambassador,
who had received a letter from the Governor of Calais. Next morning,
very early, he waited on Sir Robert Cecil at Greenwich, and was admitted
to his chamber, although the secretary was not yet out of bed. He, too,
had heard of the battle, but Richardot had informed the English
ambassador in Paris that the victory had been gained, not by the
stadholder, but by the archduke. While they were talking, a despatch-
bearer arrived with letters from Vere to Cecil, and from the States-
General to Caron, dated on the 3rd July. There could no longer be any
doubt on the subject, and the envoy of the republic had now full details
of the glorious triumph which the Spanish agent in Paris had endeavoured
for a time to distort into a defeat.
While the two were conversing, the queen, who had heard of Caron's
presence in the palace, sent down for the latest intelligence. Cecil
made notes of the most important points in the despatches to be forthwith
conveyed to her Majesty. The queen, not satisfied however, sent for
Caron himself. That diplomatist, who had just ridden down from London in
foul weather, was accordingly obliged to present himself--booted and
spurred and splashed with mud from head to foot--before her Majesty.
Elizabeth received him with such extraordinary manifestations of delight
at the tidings that he was absolutely amazed, and she insisted upon his
reading the whole of the letter just received from Olden-Barneveld, her
Majesty listening very patiently as he translated it out of Dutch into
French. She then expressed unbounded admiration of the States-General
and of Prince Maurice. The sagacious administration of the States'
government is so full of good order and policy," she said, "as to far
surpass in its wisdom the intelligence of all kings and potentates."
We kings," she said, "understand nothing of such affairs in comparison,
but require, all of us, to go to school to the States-General." She
continued to speak in terms of warm approbation of the secrecy and
discretion with which the invasion of Flanders had been conducted, and
protested that she thanked God on both knees for vouchsafing such a
splendid victory to the United Provinces.
Yet after all, her Majesty, as mankind in general, both wise and simple,
are apt to do, had judged only according to the result, and the immediate
result. No doubt John of Barneveld was second to no living statesman in
breadth of view and adroitness of handling, yet the invasion of Flanders,
which was purely his work, was unquestionably a grave mistake, and might
easily have proved a fatal one. That the deadly peril was escaped was
due, not to his prudence, but to the heroism of Maurice, the gallantry of
Vere, Count Lewis Gunther, and the forces under them, and the noble self-
devotion of Ernest. And even, despite the exertions of these brave men,
it seems certain that victory would have been impossible had the archduke
possessed that true appreciation of a situation which marks the
consummate general.
Surely the Lord seemed to have delivered the enemy into his hands that
morning. Maurice was shut in between Nieuport on one side and the
archduke's army on the other, planted as it was on the only road of
retreat. Had Albert entrenched himself, Maurice must either have
attacked at great disadvantage or attempted embarkation in the face of
his enemy. To stay indefinitely where he was would have proved an
impossibility, and amid the confusion necessary to the shipping of his
army, how could he have protected himself by six demi-cannon placed on
the sea-beach?