G.A. Henty - By Pike and Dyke - A Tale of the Rise of the Dutch Republic

Ned turned and rushed down the steps. The governor was already in the boat. Ned leaped on board, and with a stroke of his sword severed the head rope. Before the leading Spaniards reached the bottom of the steps the boat was a length away. Ned seated himself, and seizing the oars rowed down the river. Several shots were fired at them from the bridge and wharves as they went, but they passed on uninjured. Ned rowed to the admiral's ship and left the governor there, and then rowed to that of Captain Enkin.

“Welcome back,” the captain said heartily. “I had begun to fear that ill had befallen you. A few fugitives came off at noon with the news that the Spaniards had entered the city and all was lost. Since then the roar of musketry, mingled with shouts and yells, has been unceasing, and that tremendous fire in the heart of the city told its own tale. For the last three hours the river has been full of floating corpses; and the countess and her daughter, who until then remained on deck, retired to pray in their cabin. The number of fugitives who have reached the ships is very small. Doubtless they crowded into such boats as there were and sank them. At any rate, but few have made their way out, and those chiefly at the beginning of the fight. Now we had best let the ladies know you are here, for they have been in the greatest anxiety about you.”

Ned went to the cabin door and knocked. “I have returned, countess.”

In a moment the door opened. “Welcome back, indeed, Captain Martin,” she said. “We had begun to fear that we should never see you again. Thankful indeed am I that you have escaped through this terrible day. Are you unhurt?” she asked, looking at his bruised and dented armour and at his clothes, which were splashed with blood.

“I have a few trifling cuts,” he replied, “but nothing worth speaking of. I am truly thankful, countess, that you and your daughter put off with me this morning.”

“Yes, indeed,” the countess said. “I shudder when I think what would have happened had we been there in the city. What a terrible sight it is!”

“It is, indeed,” Ned replied. The shades of night had now fallen, and over a vast space the flames were mounting high, and a pall of red smoke, interspersed with myriads of sparks and flakes of fire, hung over the captured city. Occasional discharges of guns were still heard, and the shrieks of women and the shouts of men rose in confused din. It was an immense relief to all on board when an hour later the admiral, fearing that the Spaniards might bring artillery to bear upon the fleet, ordered the anchors to be weighed, and the fleet to drop a few miles below the town.

After taking off his armour, washing the blood from his wounds and having them bound up, and attiring himself in a suit lent him by the captain until he should get to Delft, where he had left his valise, Ned partook of a good meal, for he had taken nothing but a manchet of bread and a cup of wine since the previous night. He then went into the cabin and spent the evening in conversation with the countess and her daughter, the latter of whom had changed since they had last met to the full as much as he had himself done. She had been a girl of fourteen — slim and somewhat tall for her age, and looking pale and delicate from the life of confinement and anxiety they had led at Brussels, and their still greater anxiety at Maastricht. She was now budding into womanhood. Her figure was lissome and graceful, her face was thoughtful and intelligent, and gave promise of rare beauty in another year or two. He learned that they had remained for a time in the village to which they had first gone, and had then moved to another a few miles away, and had there lived quietly in a small house placed at their disposal by one of their friends. Here they had remained unmolested until two months before, when the excesses committed throughout the country by the mutinous soldiery rendered it unsafe for anyone to live outside the walls of the town. They then removed to Antwerp, where there was far more religious toleration than at Brussels; and the countess had resumed her own name, though still living in complete retirement in the house in which Ned had so fortunately found her.

“The times have altered me for the better,” the countess said. “The Spaniards have retired from that part of Friesland where some of my estates are situated, and those to whom Alva granted them have had to fly. I have a faithful steward there, and since they have left he has collected the rents and has remitted to me such portions as I required, sending over the rest to England to the charge of a banker there. As it may be that the Spaniards will again sweep over Friesland, where they still hold some of the principal towns, I thought it best, instead of having my money placed in Holland, where no one can foresee the future, to send it to England, where at least one can find a refuge and a right to exercise our religion.”

“I would that you would go there at once, countess; for surely at present Holland is no place for two unprotected ladies. Nothing would give my mother greater pleasure than to receive you until you can find a suitable home for yourselves. My sisters are but little older than your daughter, and would do all in their power to make her at home. They too speak your language, and there are thousands of your compatriots in London.”

“What do you say, Gertrude?” the countess asked. “But I know that your mind has been so long made up that it is needless to question you.”

“Yes, indeed, mother, I would gladly go away anywhere from here, where for the last six years there has been nothing but war and bloodshed. If we could go back and live in Friesland among our own people in safety and peace I should be delighted to do so, but this country is as strange to us as England would be. Our friends stand aloof from us, and we are ever in fear either of persecution or murder by the Spanish soldiers. I should be so glad to be away from it all; and, as Captain Martin says, there are so many of our own people in London, that it would scarce feel a strange land to us.”

“You have said over and over again that you would gladly go if you could get away, and now that we can do so, surely it will be better and happier for us than to go on as we have done. Of course it would be better in Holland than it has been here for the last four years, because we should be amongst Protestants; but we should be still exposed to the dangers of invasion and the horrors of sieges.”

“It is as my daughter says, Captain Martin; our thoughts have long been turning to England as a refuge. In the early days of the troubles I had thought of France, where so many of our people went, but since St. Bartholomew it has been but too evident that there is neither peace nor safety for those of the religion there, and that in England alone can we hope to be permitted to worship unmolested. Therefore, now that the chance is open to us, we will not refuse it. I do not say that we will cross at once. We have many friends at Rotterdam and Delft, and the prince held my husband in high esteem in the happy days before the troubles; therefore I shall tarry there for a while, but it will be for a time only. It will not be long before the Spanish again resume their war of conquest; besides, we are sick of the tales of horror that come to us daily, and long for calm and tranquillity, which we cannot hope to obtain in Holland. Had I a husband or brothers I would share their fate whatever it was, but being alone and unable to aid the cause in any way it would be folly to continue here and endure trials and risks. You say that you come backwards and forwards often, well then in two months we shall be ready to put ourselves under your protection and to sail with you for England.”

The next morning the admiral despatched a ship to Rotterdam with the news of the fate of Antwerp, and Ned obtained a passage in her for himself, the ladies, and servant, and on arriving at Rotterdam saw them bestowed in comfortable lodgings. He then, after an interview with the prince, went on board a ship just leaving for England, and upon his arrival reported to the minister, and afterwards to the queen herself, the terrible massacre of which he had been a witness in Antwerp.