The effect of the Governor’s eloquence was much diminished, however, by the interlocutory remarks, of De Herpt and a group of his adherents.  They reminded the people of the King’s good nature, of his readiness to forget and to forgive, as exemplified by the fate of Horn and Egmont, of Berghen and Montigny, and by the daily and almost hourly decrees of the Blood Council.  Each well-rounded period of the Governor was greeted with ironical cheers.  The oration was unsuccessful.  “Oh, citizens, citizens!” cried at last the discomfited Antony, “ye know not what ye do.  Your blood be upon your own heads; the responsibility be upon your own hearts for the fires which are to consume your cities and the desolation which is to sweep your land!” The orator at this impressive point was interrupted, and most unceremoniously hustled out of the city.  The government remained in the hands of the patriots.

The party, however, was not so strong in soldiers as in spirit.  No sooner, therefore, had they established their rebellion to Alva as an incontrovertible fact, than they sent off emissaries to the Prince of Orange, and to Admiral De la Marek at Brill.  Finding that the inhabitants of Flushing were willing to provide arms and ammunition, De la Marck readily consented to send a small number of men, bold and experienced in partisan warfare, of whom he had now collected a larger number than he could well arm or maintain in his present position.

The detachment, two hundred in number, in three small vessels, set sail accordingly from Brill for Flushing; and a wild crew they were, of reckless adventurers under command of the bold Treslong.  The expedition seemed a fierce but whimsical masquerade.  Every man in the little fleet was attired in the gorgeous vestments of the plundered churches, in gold-embroidered cassocks, glittering mass-garments, or the more sombre cowls, and robes of Capuchin friars.  So sped the early standard bearers of that ferocious liberty which had sprung from the fires in which all else for which men cherish their fatherland had been consumed.  So swept that resolute but fantastic band along the placid estuaries of Zealand, waking the stagnant waters with their wild beggar songs and cries of vengeance.

That vengeance found soon a distinguished object.  Pacheco, the chief engineer of Alva, who had accompanied the Duke in his march from Italy, who had since earned a world-wide reputation as the architect of the Antwerp citadel, had been just despatched in haste to Flushing to complete the fortress whose construction had been so long delayed.  Too late for his work, too soon for his safety, the ill-fated engineer had arrived almost at the same moment with Treslong and his crew.  He had stepped on shore, entirely ignorant of all which had transpired, expecting to be treated with the respect due to the chief commandant of the place, and to an officer high in the confidence of the Governor-General.  He found himself surrounded by an indignant and threatening