CHAPTER XVIII.
what the stars saw at oosterweel.
In the royal palace at Brussels all was confusion and uproar. The news of the riot at Antwerp had reached the capital, and wildly exaggerated reports flew from mouth to mouth, until the truth was lost in a mass of error. It was stated to the Regent that the provinces of Hainault, Flanders and Artois had been laid waste, and that a large army of Protestants was already marching to Brussels to demand restitution.
"My life is not safe for a moment here," said the Regent as she paced the floor of her room half insane with terror. "Troops, troops, gentlemen! Give me troops, that I may exact blood for blood from these scurrilous miscreants!" she entreated the members of the State Council. It was in vain that her advisers tried to pacify the thoroughly frightened woman.
That very night, Viglius, the president of the Council, forced his way into the Regent's chamber, where he found the royal lady dressed in her travelling suit, and with all preparations made for a clandestine departure from Brussels.
"Your Highness," said the aged Frisian sternly, "you have lost your presence of mind. You cannot be permitted to leave the government in the hands of a disorderly mob."
"What do you mean," cried the angry woman, "by giving me commands? I shall not remain here another hour. My life is in danger."
"You will not stir one step from this palace," replied Viglius, respectfully but firmly.
Finding all appeals to reason unavailing, the stanch old said decidedly: "Your Highness shall not be permitted to disgrace herself and the State by such an act of cowardice. If you forsake the post of duty which the King entrusted to your hands, I will treat you as a rebel of his Majesty, and will cause troops to be led against you."
These forcible words restored the hysterical woman to her senses, and she remained that night at the palace. The next morning she sent for the members of the State Council to assemble. The Prince of Orange had returned, in answer to the despatches which had been sent him earlier.
The Regent saluted the Prince with a scant show of courtesy.
"This riot is the result of your gentle measures," she said, tauntingly.
"Nay, your Highness. It is because you did not heed my counsel, but chose to adopt those rigorous measures, that this outbreak has occurred. You will kindly remember that I gave you fair warning."
"Yes, yes! " said the wily woman, changing her tactics. "You gave us good advice. Would that we had heeded it. Now, my kind friend and counsellor will you hasten at once to Antwerp and calm these rioters. If Antwerp rebels, the government is lost."
"The government, I trust, rests on a firmer foundation," replied the Prince. "The rebellion of Antwerp ought not to mean the downfall of the government. Nevertheless, I will at once depart to do your bidding."
The Prince was not deceived by Margaret's dissimulation. He had means at his command by which the Regent's letters were opened before they reached Madrid. Philip's replies were subjected to the same system of espionage. William was aware that the Regent was his enemy, yet he proceeded to Antwerp at her request. But it was for the last time. He found that Brederode, "the Beggar Prince," had incited the people to an armed resistance, and a force of thirteen hundred men, commanded by Thoulouse, was organized and equipped. Orange ordered the soldiers either to disband or to encamp outside the city. They chose the latter alternative, and set up their camp at Oosterweel. Party feeling between the Catholics and Protestants was running high. To quiet the tumult and to restore peace was the mission of the Silent Prince.
The true version of the riot had at length reached Brussels. When the Regent comprehended that it was but a handful of malcontents that she had to reckon with, she roused her energies and sent Philip de Lanoy with a thousand picked veterans to crush the rebels.
The army which young Thoulouse commanded was not one to excite the admiration of any one possessed with a knowledge of military tactics. It was almost entirely composed of the turbulent elements of Antwerp and the surrounding districts, "beggars," in deed and truth.
The youthful commander sat in the front room of a country house, which served as his headquarters, reading, when de Lanoy, at the head of the Regent's army, marched against Oosterweel. Half of his forces were absent on marauding expeditions, and the remainder were scattered about, wholly unconscious of danger.
Thoulouse was an ardent Protestant, and wholly devoted to this cause. He felt that the last step of the followers of this cause had been over a precipice. None regretted the actions of the iconoclasts more than he, yet he remained stanch to the faith and resolved to defend it to the death. Wind and tide might be against him, but Thoulouse never dreamed of deserting his colors.
A loud noise in the distance attracted his attention. Two soldiers ran into the commander's presence with the joyful announcement, “The Beggar Prince is coming! Our friends are in sight!”
Thoulouse looked at the advancing host. There were no banners visible, and there was nothing to indicate that they were other than Count Brederode’s auxiliaries, whom he had agreed to send from Holland. Great joy prevailed in the camp atOosterweel. “Allies are coming! Our victory is assured!” the soldiers shouted joyously.
Only for a brief moment were they deluded. The advancing host unfurled its standards, and Spanish colors fluttered in the breeze! Trumpets sounded the assault. On the still morning air rangout the fierce battle-cry: “Santiago! Santiago! Sancta Maria! On to victory!” And down the low hill swept the Spanish cavalry like a wave of destruction.
Fear made cowards of the undisciplined rebels. Like frightened sheep, a part of them obeyed the instinctive desire to flee the danger, even though flight was the one thing which would aggravate their peril.
Thoulouse, with wonderful presence of mind, gathered the remnant of his force together and called out to the fugitives to keep within the shelter of the forts, and to reserve their fire until the enemy came within close range. He might just as well have advised the winds, as to have issued commands to that terrified host. They fired at random, and then fled precipitately. There was no shelter open to them. On the one side were the gates of Antwerp inexorably closed. On the other side was the Catholic army, which was loyal to the Spanish King. The result was a wholesale massacre. Only about the person of Thoulouse, who was surrounded by a hundred intrepid soldiers, was there the semblance of a battle.
Bravely did this little band defend themselves against unequal odds.
"Will not the Prince of Orange send us help?" asked one of the soldiers of Thoulouse.
"No, my men. The Prince has never regarded the 'beggar movement' favorably. Death is before us, and every man of you must make up his mind to die."
A sigh escaped his lips. He was young, only twenty years of age, and life was sweet. He had left a beautiful young wife in Antwerp,—cruel Antwerp, that would not send succor in his extremity. But he levelled his musket without a tremor, and his unerring aim proved that his nerves were steady.
These rough beggars were thoroughly sobered at the prospect. The near approach of death inspired them with solemn emotions. The goal was death, they knew it; but death on the battle-field was preferable to death at the hands of the executioner. To their honor, be it said, they uttered no idle complaints, but each man grasped his weapon with the energy of despair.
The issue of this unequal warfare is well known. History tells us that it was a cruel traffic in human blood.
Sunset came. The western sky above the hill was broken into rifts. Crimson lights ran up into the sky, pierced the walls of purple cloud, and cast a blood-red glow upon the clouds overhead. Amid the glow of the sunset fires another lurid light mingled. It was the flames of the country-house where the commander of the rebel forces had made his headquarters. Rather than be taken alive, Thoulouse and a few survivors had entered the house and fired it.
"Better perish in the flames than under the axe," said the blood-stained commander as he stood for a moment by the window and surveyed the scene. Columns of flame and smoke hid his face from view. Only his half-charred body fell into the hands of the government.
The night winds whispered an awful secret. "Alva is coming! Alva is coming!" they said. Truly the time was ripe for Alva to come. The hand of tyranny had this day struck a fatal blow, and the name of Alva was soon to become a "terror-breeding watchword " throughout the length and breadth of the Netherlands.