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.”