in thought.  What could have become of the cobbler's beloved lodgers?  At
noon the day before, their host, who in March usually fastened the luck-
bringing nest firmly with his own hands, had stolen up to the roof, and
with his cross-bow shot first the little wife and then the husband.  It
was a hard task, and his wife sat weeping in the kitchen while the evil
deed was done, but whoever is tormented by the fierce pangs of hunger and
sees his clear ones dying of want, doesn't think of old affection and
future good fortune, but seeks deliverance at the present time.

The storks had been sacrificed too late, for the cobbler's son, his
growing apprentice, had closed his eyes the night before for his eternal
sleep.  Loud lamentations reached Maria's ear from the open door of the
shop, and Adrian said: "Jacob is dead, and Mabel is very sick.  This
morning their father cursed me on father's account, saying it was his
fault that everything was going to destruction.  Will there be no bread
again to-day, mother?  Barbara has some biscuit, and I feel so sick.  I
can't swallow the everlasting meal any longer."

"Perhaps there will be a slice.  We must save the baked food, child."

In the entry of her house Maria found a man-servant, clad in black.  He
had come to announce the death of Commissioner Dietrich Van Bronkhorst.
The plague had ended the strong man's life on the evening of the day
before, Sunday.

Maria already knew of this heavy loss, which threw the whole
responsibility of everything, that now happened, upon her husband's
shoulders.  She had also learned that a letter had been received from
Valdez, in which he had pledged his word of honor as a nobleman, to
spare the city, if it would surrender itself to the king's "mercy," and
especially to grant Burgomaster Van der Werff, Herr Van der Does, and the
other supporters of the rebellion, free passage through the Spanish
lines.  The Castilians would retire and Leyden should be garrisoned only
by a few German troops.  He invited Van der Werff and Herr von Nordwyk to
come to Leyderdorp as ambassadors, and in any case, even if the
negotiations failed, agreed to send them home uninjured under a safe
escort.  Maria knew that her husband had appointed that day for a great
assembly of the council, the magistrates, and all the principal men in
the city, as well as the captains of the city-guard--but not a word of
all this had reached her ears from Peter.  She had heard the news from
Frail Van Hout and the wives of other citizens.

During the last few days a great change had taken place in her husband.
He went out and returned with a pallid, gloomy face.  Taciturn and
wasting away with anxiety, he withdrew from the members of his family
even when at home, repelling his wife curtly and impatiently when,
yielding to the impulse of her heart, she approached him with encouraging
words.  Night brought him no sleep, and he left his couch before morning
dawned, to pace restlessly to and fro, or gaze at Bessie, who to him
alone still tried to show recognition by a faint smile.

When Maria returned home, she instantly went to the child and found
Doctor Bontius with her.  The physician shook his head at her appearance,
and said the delicate little creature's life would soon be over.  Her
stomach had been injured during the first months of want; now it refused
to do its office, and to hope for recovery would be folly.

"She must live, she must not die!"  cried Maria, frantic with grief and
yet fall of hope, like a true mother, who cannot grasp the thought that
she is condemned to lose her child, even when the little heart is already
ceasing to beat and the bright eyes are growing dim and closing.
"Bessie, Bessie, look at me!  Bessie, take this nice milk.  Only a few
drops!  Bessie, Bessie, you must not die."

Peter had entered the room unobserved and heard the last words.  Holding
his breath, he gazed down at his darling, his broad shoulders shook, and
in a stifled, faltering voice he asked the physician: "Must she die?"

"Yes, old friend; I think so!  Hold up your head!  You have much still
left you.  All five of Van Loo's children have died of the plague."

Peter shuddered, and without taking any notice of Maria, passed from the
room with drooping head.  Bontius followed him into his study, laid his
hand on his arm, and said:

"Our little remnant of life is made bitter to us, Peter.  Barbara says a
corpse was laid before your door early this morning."

"Yes.  When I went out, the livid face offered me a morning greeting.
It was a young person.  All whom death mows down, the people lay to my
charge.  Wherever one looks--corpses!  Whatever one hears--curses!  Have
I authority over so many lives?  Day and night nothing but sorrow and
death before my eyes;--and yet, yet, yet--oh God! save me from madness!"

Peter clasped both hands over his brow; but Bontius found no word of
comfort, and merely exclaimed: "And I, and I?  My wife and child ill with
a fever, day and night on my feet, not to cure, but to see people die.
What has been learned by hard study becomes childish folly in these days,
and yet the poor creatures utter a sigh of hope when I feel their pulses.
But this can't go on, this can't go on.  Day before yesterday seventy,
yesterday eighty-six deaths, and among them two of my colleagues."

"And no prospect of improvement?"

"To-morrow the ninety will become a hundred--the one hundred will become
two, three, four, five, until at last one individual will be left, for
whom there will be no grave-digger."

"The pest-houses are closed, and we still have cattle and horses."

"But the pestilence creeps through the joints, and since the last loaf of
bread and the last malt-cake have been divided, and there is nothing for
the people to eat except meat, meat, and nothing else--one tiny piece
for the whole day--disease is piled on disease in forms utterly
unprecedented, of which no book speaks, for which no remedy has yet been
discovered.  This drawing water with a bottomless pitcher is beginning to
be too much for me.  My brain is no stronger than yours.  Farewell until
to-morrow."

"To-day, to-day!  You are coming to the meeting at the town-hall?"

"Certainly not!  Do what you can justify; I shall practise my profession,
which now means the same thing as saying: 'I shall continue to close eyes
and hold coroner's inquests.'  If things go on so, there will soon be an
end to practice."

"Once for all: if you were in my place, you would treat with Valdez?"

"In your place?  I am not you; I am a physician, one who has nothing to
do except to take the field against suffering and death.  You, since
Bronkhorst's death, are the providence of the city.  Supply a bit of
bread, if only as large as my hand, in addition to the meat, or--I love
my native land and liberty as well as any one--or--"

"Or?"

"Or--leave Death to reap his harvest, you are no physician."

Bontius bade his friend farewell and left him, but Peter thrust his hand
through his hair and stood gazing out of the window, until Barbara
entered, laid his official costume on a chair and asked with feigned
carelessness:

"May I give Adrian some of the last biscuit?  Meat is repulsive to him.
He's lying on the bed, writhing in pain."

Peter turned pale, and said in a hollow tone: "Give it to him and call
the doctor.  Maria and Bontius are already with him."  The burgomaster
changed his clothing, feeling a thrill of fierce indignation against
every article he put on.  To-day the superb costume was as hateful to him
as the office, which gave him the right to wear it, and which, until a
few weeks ago, he had occupied with a joyous sense of confidence in
himself.

Before leaving the house, he sought Adrian.  The boy was lying in
Barbara's room, complaining of violent pains, and asking if he must
die too.

Peter shook his head, but Maria kissed him, exclaiming:

"No, certainly not."

The burgomaster's time was limited.  His wife stopped him in the entry,
but he hurried down-stairs without hearing what she called after him.

The young wife returned to Adrian's bedside, thinking anxiously of the
speedy death of many comrades of the dear boy, whose damp hand rested in
hers.  She thought of Bessie, followed Peter in imagination to the town-
hall, and heard his powerful voice contending for resistance to the last
man and the last pound of meat; nay, she could place herself by his side,
for she knew what was to come: To stand fast, stand fast for liberty, and
if God so willed, die a martyr's death for it like Jacoba, Leonhard, and
Peter's noble father.

One anxious hour followed another.

When Adrian began to feel better, she went to Bessie, who pale and
inanimate, seemed to be gently fading away, and only now and then raised
her little finger to play with her dry lips.

Oh, the pretty, withering human flower!  How closely the little girl had
grown into her heart, how impossible it seemed to give her up!  With
tearful eyes, she pressed her forehead on her clasped hands, which rested
on the head-board of the little bed, and fervently implored God to spare
and save this child.  Again and again she repeated the prayer, but when
Bessie's dim eyes no longer met hers and her hands fell into her lap, she
could not help thinking of Peter, the assembly, the fate of the city, and
the words: "Leyden saved, Holland saved!  Leyden lost, all is lost!"

So the hours passed until the gloomy day were away into twilight, and
twilight was followed by evening.  Trautchen brought in the lamp, and at
last Peter's step was heard on the stairs.

It must be he, and yet it was not, for he never came up with such slow
and dragging feet.

Then the study door opened.

It was he!

What could have happened, what had the citizens determined?

With an anxious heart, she told Trautchen to stay with the child, and
then went to her husband.

Peter sat at the writing-table in full official uniform, with his hat
still on his head.  His face lay buried on his folded arms, beside the
sconce.

He saw nothing, heard nothing, and when she at last called him, started,
sprang up and flung his hat violently on the table.  His hair was
dishevelled, his glance restless, and in the faint light of the
glimmering candles his cheeks looked deadly pale.

"What do you want?"  he asked curtly, in a harsh voice; but for a time
Maria made no reply, fear paralyzed her tongue.

At last she found words, and deep anxiety was apparent in her question:

"What has happened?"

"The beginning of the end," he answered in a hollow tone.

"They have out-voted you?"  cried the young wife.  "Baersdorp and the
other cowards want to negotiate?"

Peter drew himself up to his full height, and exclaimed in a loud,
threatening tone:

"Guard your tongue!  He who remains steadfast until his children die
and corpses bar the way in front of his own house, he who bears the
responsibility of a thousand deaths, endures curses and imprecations
through long weeks, and has vainly hoped for deliverance during more
than a third of a year--he who, wherever he looks, sees nothing save
unprecedented, constantly increasing misery and then no longer repels the
saving hand of the foe--"

"Is a coward, a traitor, who breaks the sacred oath he has sworn."

"Maria," cried Peter angrily, approaching with a threatening gesture.

She drew her slender figure up to its full height and with quickened
breath awaited him, pointing her finger at him, as she exclaimed with a
sharp tone perceptible through the slight tremor in her voice:

"You, you have voted with the Baersdorps, you, Peter Van der Werff!
You have done this thing, you, the friend of the Prince, the shield and
providence of this brave city, you, the man who received the oaths of the
citizens, the martyr's son, the servant of liberty--"

"No more!"  he interrupted, trembling with shame and rage.  "Do you know
what it is to bear the guilt of this most terrible suffering before God
and men?"

"Yes, yes, thrice yes; it is laying one's heart on the rack, to save
Holland and liberty.  That is what it means!  Oh, God, my God!  You are
lost!  You intend to negotiate with Valdez!"

"And suppose I do?"  asked the burgomaster, with an angry gesture.

Maria looked him sternly in the eye, and exclaimed in a loud, resolute
tone:

"Then it will be my turn to say: Go to Delft; we need different men
here."

The burgomaster turned pale and bent his eyes on the floor, while she
fearlessly confronted him with a steady glance.

The light fell full upon her glowing face, and when Peter again raised
his eyes, it seemed as if the same Maria stood before him, who as a bride
had vowed to share trouble and peril with him, remain steadfast in the
struggle for liberty to the end; he felt that his "child" Maria had grown
to his own height and above him, recognized for the first time in the
proud woman before him his companion in conflict, his high-hearted helper
in distress and danger.  An overmastering yearning, mightier than any
emotion ever experienced before, surged through his soul, impelled him
towards her, and found utterance in the words:

"Maria, Maria, my wife, my guardian angel!  We have written to Valdez,
but there is still time,--nothing binds me yet, and with you, with you
I will stand firm to the end."

Then, in the midst of these days of woe, she threw herself on his breast,
crying aloud in the abundance of this new, unexpected, unutterable
happiness:

"With you, one with you--forever, unto death, in conflict and in love!"




CHAPTER XXXIII.

Peter felt animated with new life.  A fresh store of courage and
enthusiasm filled his breast, for he constantly received a new supply
from the stout-hearted woman by his side.

Under the pressure of the terrible responsibility he endured, and urged
by his fellow-magistrates, he had consented, at the meeting of the
council, to write to Valdez and ask him to give free passage to
embassadors, who were to entreat the estates and the Prince of Orange
to release the tortured city from her oath.

Valdez made every effort to induce the burgomaster to enter into farther
negotiations, but the latter remained firm, and no petition for release
from the sacred duty of resistance left the city.  The two Van der Does,
Van Hout, Junker von Warmond, and other resolute men, who had already, in
the great assembly, denounced any intercourse with the enemy, now
valiantly supported him against his fellow-magistrates and the council,
that with the exception of seven of its members, persistently and
vehemently urged the commencement of negotiations.

Adrian rapidly recovered, but Doctor Bontius's prediction was terribly
fulfilled, for famine and pestilence vied with each other in horrible
fury, and destroyed almost half of all the inhabitants of the flourishing
city.  Intense was the gloom, dark the sky, yet even amidst the cruel woe
there was many an hour in which bright sunshine illumined souls, and hope
unfurled her green banner.  The citizens of Leyden rose from their
couches more joyously, than a bride roused by the singing of her
companions on her wedding-day, when on the morning of September eleventh
loud and long-continued cannonading was heard from the distance, and the
sky became suffused with a crimson glow.  The villages southwest of the
city were burning.  Every house, every barn that sunk into ashes, burying
the property of honest men, was a bonfire to the despairing citizens.

The Beggars were approaching!

Yonder, where the cannon thundered and the horizon glowed, lay the Land-
scheiding, the bulwark which for centuries had guarded the plains
surrounding Leyden from the assaults of the waves, and now barred the way
of the fleet bringing assistance.

"Fall, protecting walls, rise, tempest, swallow thy prey, raging sea,
destroy the property of the husbandman, ruin our fields and meadows, but
drown the foe or drive him hence."  So sang Janus Dousa, so rang a voice
in Peter's soul, so prayed Maria, and with her thousands of men and
women.

But the glow in the horizon died away, the firing ceased.  A second day
elapsed, a third and fourth, but no messenger arrived, no Beggar ship
appeared, and the sea seemed to be calm; but another terrible power
increased, moving with mysterious, stealthy, irresistible might; Death,
with his pale companions, Despair and Famine.

The dead were borne secretly to their graves under cover of the darkness
of night, to save their scanty ration for the survivors, in the division
of food.  The angel of death flew from house to house, touched pretty
little Bessie's heart, and kissed her closed eyes while she slumbered
in the quiet night.

The faint-hearted and the Spanish sympathizers raised their heads and
assembled in bands, one of which forced a passage into the council-
chamber and demanded bread.  But not a crumb remained, and the
magistrates had nothing more to distribute except a small portion of cow
and horse-flesh, and boiled and salted hides.

During this period of the sorest distress, Van der Werff was passing down
the "broad street."  He did not notice that a throng of desperate men and
women were pursuing him with threats; but as he turned to enter Van
Hout's house, suddenly found himself surrounded.  A pallid woman, with
her dying child in her arms, threw herself before him, held out the
expiring infant, and cried in hollow tones: "Let this be enough, let this
be enough--see here, see this; it is the third.  Let this be enough!"

"Enough, enough!  Bread, bread!  Give us bread!"  was shrieked and
shouted around him, and threatening weapons and stones were raised; but a
carpenter, whom he knew, and who had hitherto faithfully upheld the good
cause, advanced saying in measured accents, in his deep voice: "This can
go on no longer.  We have patiently borne hunger and distress in fighting
against the Spaniards and for our Bible, but to struggle against certain
death is madness."

Peter, pale and agitated, gazed at the mother, the child, the sturdy
workman and the threatening, shrieking mob.  The common distress, which
afflicted them and so many starving people, oppressed his soul with a
thousand-fold greater power.  He would fain have drawn them all to his
heart, as brothers in misfortune, companions of a future, worthier
existence.  With deep emotion, he looked from one to the other, then
pressed his hand upon his breast and called to the crowd, which thronged
around him:

"Here I stand.  I have sworn to faithfully endure to the end; and you did
so with me.  I will not break my oath, but I can die.  If my life will
serve you, here I am!  I have no bread, but here, here is my body.  Take
it, lay hands on me, tear me to pieces.  Here I stand, here I stand.
I will keep my oath."

The carpenter bent his head, and said in a hollow tone: "Come, people,
let God's will be done; we have sworn."

The burgomaster quietly entered his friend's house.  Fran Van Hout had
seen and heard all this, and on the very same day told the story to
Maria, her eyes sparkling brightly as she exclaimed: "Never did I see any
man so noble as he was in that hour!  It is well for us, that he rules
within these walls.  Never will our children and children's children
forget this deed."

They have treasured it in their memories, and during the night succeeding
the day on which the burgomaster acted so manly a part, a letter arrived
from the Prince, full of joyous and encouraging news.  The noble man had
recovered, and was striving with all his power to rescue brave Leyden.
The Beggars had cut the Landscheiding, their vessels were pressing
onward--help was approaching, and the faithful citizen who brought the
letter, had seen with his own eyes the fleet bringing relief and the
champions of freedom, glowing with martial ardor.  The two Van der Does,
by the same letter, were appointed the Prince's commissioners in place of
the late Herr Van Bronkhorst.  Van der Werff no longer stood alone, and
when the next morning "Father William's" letter was read aloud and the
messenger's news spread abroad, the courage and confidence of the
tortured citizens rose like withering grass after a refreshing rain.

But they were still condemned to long weeks of anxiety and suffering.

During the last days of September they were forced to slaughter the cows
hitherto spared for the infants and young mothers, and then, then?

Help was close at hand, for the sky often reddened, and the air was
shaken by the roar of distant cannon; but the east wind continued to
prevail, driving back the water let in upon the land, and the vessels
needed a rising flood to approach the city.

Not one of all the messengers, who had been sent out, returned; there was
nothing certain, save the cruelly increasing unendurable suffering.  Even
Barbara had succumbed, and complained of weakness and loathing of the
ordinary food.

Maria thought of the roast-pigeon, which had agreed with Bessie so well,
and went to the musician, to ask if he could sacrifice another of his
pets for her sister-in-law.

Wilhelm's mother received the burgomaster's wife.  The old lady was
sitting wearily in an arm-chair; she could still walk, but amid her
anxiety and distress a strange twitching had affected her hands.  When
Maria made her request, she shook her head, saying: "Ask him yourself.
He's obliged to keep the little creatures shut up, for whenever they
appear, the poor starving people shoot at them.  There are only three
left.  The messengers took the others, and they haven't returned.

"Thank God for it; the little food he still has, will do more good in
dishes, than in their crops.  Would you believe it?  A fortnight ago he
paid fifty florins out of his savings for half a sack of peas, and Heaven
knows where he found them.  Ulrich, Ulrich!  Take Frau Van der Werff up
to Wilhelm.  I'd willingly spare you the climb, but he's watching for the
carrier-pigeons that have been sent out, and won't even come down to his
meals.  To be sure, they would hardly be worth the trouble!"

It was a clear, sunny day.  Wilhelm was standing in his look-out, gazing
over the green, watery plain, that lay out-spread below him, towards the
south.  Behind him sat Andreas, the fencing-master's fatherless boy;
writing notes, but his attention was not fixed on his work; for as soon
as he had finished a line he too gazed towards the horizon, watching for
the pigeon his teacher expected.  He did not look particularly emaciated,
for many a grain of the doves' food had been secretly added to his scanty
ration of meat.

Wilhelm showed that he felt both surprised and honored by Frau Van der
Werff's visit, and even promised to grant her request, though it was
evident that the "saying yes" was by no means easy for him.

The young wife went out on the balcony with him, and he showed her in
the south, where usually nothing but a green plain met the eye, a wide
expanse over which a light mist was hovering.  The noon sun seemed to
steep the white vapor with light, and lure it upward by its ardent rays.
This was the water streaming through the broken dyke, and the black
oblong specks moving along its edges were the Spanish troops and herds of
cattle, that had retreated before the advancing flood from the outer
fortifications, villages and hamlets.  The Land-scheiding itself was not
visible, but the Beggars had already passed it.  If the fleet succeeded
in reaching the Zoetermere Lake and from thence.

Wilhelm suddenly interrupted his explanation, for Andreas had suddenly
started up, upsetting his stool, and exclaimed:

"It's coming!  The dove!  Roland, my fore man, there it comes!"

For the first time Wilhelm heard the boy's lips utter his father's
exclamation.  Some great emotion must have stirred his heart, and in
truth he was not mistaken; the speck piercing the air, which his keen eye
had discovered, was no longer a mere spot, but an oblong something--a
bird, the pigeon!

Wilhelm seized the flag on the balcony, and waved it as joyously as ever
conqueror unfurled his banner after a hard-won fight.  The dove came
nearer--alighted, slipped into the cote, and a few minutes after the
musician appeared with a tiny letter.

"To the magistrates!"  cried Wilhelm.  "Take it to your husband at once.
Oh! dear lady, dear lady, finish what the dove has begun.  Thank God!
thank God!  they are already at North-Aa.  This will save the poor
people from despair!  And now one thing more!  You shall have the roasted
bird, but take this grain too; a barley-porridge is the best medicine for
Barbara's condition; I've tried it!"

When evening came, and the musician had told his parents the joyful news,
he ordered the blue dove with the white breast to be caught.  "Kill it
outside the house," said he, "I can't bear to see it."

Andreas soon came back with the beheaded pigeon.

His lips were bloody, Wilhelm knew from what, yet he did not reprove the
hungry boy, but merely said:

"Fie, you pole-cat!"

Early the next morning a second dove returned.  The letters the winged
messengers had brought were read aloud from the windows of the town-hall,
and the courage of the populace, pressed to the extremest limits of
endurance, flickered up anew and helped them bear their misery.  One of
the letters were addressed to the magistrates, the other to Janus Dousa;
they sounded confident and hopeful, and the Prince, the faithful shield
of liberty, the friend and guide of the people, had recovered from his
sickness and visited the vessels and troops intended for the relief of
Leyden.  Rescue was so near, but the north-east wind would not change,
and the water did not rise.  Great numbers of citizens, soldiers,
magistrates and women stood on the citadel and other elevated places,
gazing into the distance.

A thousand hands were clasped in fervent prayer, and the eyes of all were
turned in feverish expectation and eager yearning towards the south, but
the boundary line of the waves did not move; and the sun, as if in
mockery, burst cheerily through the mists of the autumn morning, imparted
a pleasant warmth to the keen air, and in the evening sank towards the
west in the midst of radiant light, diffusing its golden rays far and
wide.  The cloudless blue sky arched pitilessly over the city, and at
night glittered with thousands of twinkling stars.  Early on the morning
of the twenty-ninth the mists grew denser, the grass remained dry, the
fogs lifted, the cool air changed to a sultry atmosphere, the grey clouds
piled in masses on each other, and grew black and threatening.  A light
breeze rose, stirring the leafless branches of the trees, then a sudden
gust of wind swept over the heads of the throngs watching the distant
horizon.  A second and third followed, then a howling tempest roared and
hissed without cessation through the city, wrenching tiles from the
roofs, twisting the fruit-trees in the gardens and the young elms and
lindens in many a street, tearing away the flags the boys had fastened on
the walls in defiance of the Spaniards, lashing the still waters of the
city moat and quiet canals, and--the Lord does not abandon His own--and
the vanes turned, the storm came from the north-west.  No one saw the
result, but the sailors shouted the tidings, and each individual caught
up the words and bore them exultantly on--the hurricane drove the sea
into the mouth of the Meuse, forcing back the waves of the river by its
fierce assault, driving them over its banks through the gaps opened in
the dykes, and the gates of the sluices, and bearing forward on their
towering crests the vessels bringing deliverance.

Roar, roar, thou storm, stream, stream, rushing rain, rage, waves, and
destroy the meadows, swallow up houses and villages!  Thousands and
thousands of people on the walls and towers of Leyden hail your approach,
behold in you the terrible armies of the avenging God, exult and shout a
joyous welcome!

For two successive days the burgomaster, Maria and Adrian, the Van der
Does and Van Houts stood with brief intervals of rest among the throng on
the citadel or the tower at the Cow-Gate; even Barbara, far more
strengthened by hope than by the barley-porridge or the lean carrier-
pigeon, would not stay at home, but dragged herself to the musician's
look-out, for every one wanted to see the rising water, the earth
softening, the moisture creeping between the blades of grass, then
spreading into pools and ponds, until at last there was a wide expanse of
water, on which bubbles rose, burst under the descending rain, and formed
ever-widening circles.  Every one wanted to watch the Spaniards, hurrying
hither and thither like sheep pursued by a wolf.  Every one wanted to
hear the thunder of the Beggars' cannon, the rattle of their arquebuses
and muskets; men and women thought the tempest that threatened to sweep
them away, pleasanter than the softest breeze, and the pouring rain,
which drenched them, preferable to spring dew-drops mirroring the
sunshine.

Behind the strong fort of Lammen, defended by several hundred Spanish
soldiers, and the Castle of Cronenstein, a keen eye could distinguish the
Beggars' vessels.

During Thursday and Friday Wilhelm watched in vain for a dove, but on
Saturday his best flier returned, bringing a letter from Admiral Boisot,
who called upon the armed forces of the city to sally out on Friday and
attack Lammen.

The storm had blown the pigeon away.  It had reached the city too late,
but on Saturday evening Janus Dousa and Captain Van der Laen were
actively engaged, summoning every one capable of bearing arms to appear
early Sunday morning.  Poor, pale, emaciated troops were those who obeyed
the leaders' call, but not a man was absent and each stood ready to give
his life for the deliverance of the city and his family.

The tempest had moderated, the firing had ceased, and the night was dark
and sultry.  No eyes wished to sleep, and those whose slumber overpowered
for a short time, were startled and terrified by strange, mysterious
noises.  Wilhelm sat in his look-out, gazing towards the south and
listening intently.  Sometimes a light gust of wind whistled around the
lofty house, sometimes a shout, a scream, or the blast of a trumpet
echoed through the stillness of the night; then a crashing noise, as if
an earthquake had shaken part of the city to its foundations, arose near
the Cow-Gate.  Not a star was visible in the sky, but bright spots, like
will-o'-the-wisps, moved through the dense gloom in regular order near
Lanimen.  It was a horrible, anxious night.

Early next morning the citizens saw that a part of the city-wall near the
Cow-Gate had fallen, and then unexampled rejoicing arose at the breach,
no longer dangerous; exultant cries echoed through every street and
alley, drawing from the houses men and women, grey-beards and children,
the sick and the well, one after another thronging to the Cow-Gate, where
the Beggars' fleet was seen approaching.  The city-carpenter, Thomassohn,
and other men, tore out of the water the posts by which the Spaniards had
attempted to bar the vessels' advance, then the first ship, followed by a
second and third, arrived at the walls.  Stern, bearded men, with fierce,
scarred, weather-beaten faces, whose cheeks for years had been touched by
no salt moisture, save the sea-spray, smiled kindly at the citizens,
flung them one loaf of bread after another, and many other good things of
which they had long been deprived, weeping and sobbing with emotion like
children, while the poor people eat and eat, unable to utter a word of
thanks.  Then the leaders came, Admiral Boisot embraced the Van der Does
and Burgomaster Van der Werff, the Beggar captain Van Duijkenburg was
clasped in the arms of his mother, Barbara, and many a Leyden man hugged
a liberator, on whom his eyes now rested for the first time.  Many, many
tears fell, thousands of hearts overflowed, and the Sunday bells,
sounding so much clearer and gayer than usual, summoned rescuers and
rescued to the churches to pray.  The spacious sanctuary was too small
for the worshippers, and when the pastor, Corneliussohn, who filled the
place of the good Verstroot, now ill from caring for so many sufferers,
called upon the congregation to give thanks, his exhortation had long
since been anticipated; from the first notes of the organ, the thousands
who poured into the church had been filled with the same eager longing,
to utter thanks, thanks, fervent thanks.

In the Grey Sisters' chapel Father Damianus also thanked the Lord, and
with him Nicolas Van Wibisma and other Catholics, who loved their native
land and liberty.

After church Adrian, holding a piece of bread in one hand and his shoes
in the other, waded at the head of his school-mates through the higher
meadows to Leyderdorp, to see the Spaniards' deserted camp.  There stood
the superb tent of General Valdez, in which, over the bed, hung a map of
the Rhine country, drawn by the Netherlander Beeldsnijder to injure his
own nation.  The boys looked at it, and a Beggar, who had formerly been
in a writing-school and now looked like a sea-bear, said:

"Look here, my lads.  There is the Land-scheiding.

"We first pierced that, but more was to be done.  The green path had many
obstacles, and here at the third dyke--they call it the Front-way--there
were hard nuts to crack, and farther progress was impossible.  We now 45
returned, made a wide circuit across the Segwaertway, and through this
canal here, where there was hard fighting, to North-Aa.  The Zoetermeer
Lake now lay behind us, but the water became too shallow and we could get
no farther.  Have you seen the great Ark of Delft?  It's a huge vessel,
moved by wheels, by which the water is thrust aside.  You'll be delighted
with it.  At last the Lord gave us the storm and the spring-tide.  Then
the vessels had the right depth of water.  There was warm work again at
the Kirk-way, but the day before yesterday we reached Lammen.  Many a
brave man has fallen on both sides, but at Lammen every one expected the
worst struggle to take place.  We were going to attack it early this
morning, but when day dawned everything was unnaturally quiet in the den,
and moreover, a strange stillness prevailed.  Then we thought: Leyden has
surrendered; starvation conquered her.  But it was nothing of the sort!
You are people of the right stamp, and soon after a lad about as large as
one of you, came to our vessel and told us he had seen a long procession
of lights move out of the fort during the night and march away.  At first
we wouldn't believe him, but the boy was right.  The water had grown too
hot for the crabs, and the lights the lad saw were the Spaniards' lunts.
Look, children, there is Lammen--"

Adrian had gone close to the map with his companions and now interrupted
the Beggar by laughing loudly.

"What is it, curly-head?"  asked the latter.

Look, look!"  cried the boy, "the great General Valdez has immortalized
himself here, and there is his name too.  Listen, listen!  The rector
would hang a placard with the word donkey round his neck, for he has
written: "Castelli parvi!  Vale civitas, valete castelli parvi; relicti
estis propter aquam et non per vim inimicorum!'  Oh! the donkey 'Castelli
parvi!'"

"What does it mean?"  asked the Beggar.

"Farewell, Leyden, farewell, ye little 'Castelli;' ye are abandoned
on account of the waves, and not of the power of the enemy.
'Parvi Castelli!' I must tell mother that!"

On Monday, William of Orange entered Leyden, and went to Herr von
Montfort's house.  The people received their Father William with joy, and
the unwearied champion of liberty, in the midst of the exultation and
rejoicing that surrounded him, labored for the future prosperity of the
city.  At a later period he rewarded the faithful endurance of the people
with a peerless memorial: the University of Leyden.  This awakened and
kept alive in the busy city and the country bleeding for years in severe
conflicts, that lofty aspiration and effort, which is its own reward,
and places eternal welfare far above mere temporal prosperity.  The tree,