CHAPTER XXXIV.
THE MIDNIGHT ASSASSIN.
It was the spring of 1574. William of Orange sat in a room in his spacious mansion at Delft, reading despatches. One in particular seemed to touch him. It was an announcement from a Protestant clergyman, stating that as soon as he could make his way through the enemy's lines he would present in person the contribution which his needy flock had gathered together for the Prince.
The unequal contest between the people of the Netherlands and the Spanish government continued unabated. The Duke of Alva in his greed had at last overreached the mark. He levied a tax of the tenth penny upon every article of merchandise or personal property, to be paid as often as it should be sold, said tax to be perpetual. No one was exempt. This was a blow which struck home to every fireside. If enforced, commerce would be paralyzed. Religious persecution had failed to unite these provinces. Alva's oppression accomplished this union, and the different States were unanimous in their opposition and purpose to revolt.
About this time Admirals Treslong and De la Marck took possession of the towns of Brill and Flushing. A small but important seaport was also taken, and half the island of Walcheren renounced the yoke of Spain. Enkhuizen, the key to the Zuyder Zee, followed suit, and with a great burst of enthusiasm rose and threw off the tyrant's yoke. Amsterdam was the only town in Holland remaining loyal to Spain; and in Zealand only Middleburg and Tergoes were submissive to Spanish rule. Louis of Nassau secured Mons, and one by one the important cities and towns throughout the Netherlands accepted garrisons of the Prince's army.
But the success of the patriots was capricious. Terrible reverses followed. The gallant Louis was defeated and killed at Mookerhyde and his army scattered. The army of the Prince, harassed by Alva's tactics, poorly paid and starving, mutinied at last. The massacre of St. Bartholomew put to flight all hopes of a Huguenot reinforcement which had been promised Orange. The terrified cities and towns of Belgium once more placed their necks under the heel of the conquering Alva. Tyranny was again triumphant.
But the Silent Prince remained calm and hopeful in the midst of crushing defeat. He was submissive to the will of God. "Nevertheless," he says, "since it has pleased God to disappoint us, it is necessary to have patience and not to lose courage, conforming ourselves to His divine will, yet proceeding onward in our work with his almighty aid." William's faith was sublime. He did not waver an instant, even when the storm was wildest and the night darkest.
"The God of armies is with us," he wrote, "and he will fight in the midst of his forces."
With a small army of chosen followers. Orange went to Holland, the only province now which regarded him as protector and sovereign. When he reached Holland he both expected and prepared to die. "Here will I make my sepulchre," he said, in the touching words of Scripture. If he could not effect the liberation of Holland he was ready to share her fate.
And Holland received with tears of gratitude and words of affection the unsuccessful and proscribed Prince of Orange. With heart and soul the people obeyed William's commands implicitly, and began to raise money and levy troops for the final desperate struggle for liberty.
Alva, finding to his cost that these "men of butter" could offer prolonged resistance, wearied at length of the contest, and resigned the governorship of the Netherlands. Requesens was appointed to fill his place.
Part of the Prince's forces were at Delft and part at Rotterdam.
Such was the condition of affairs when the incident about to be related took place.
The room in which the Prince of Orange sat was scantily furnished. The silver plate which he possessed in such abundance had long ago been sold to pay his soldiers. Very little now remained to remind one of the magnificent style in which the Prince once lived. He had literally sacrificed all for his country.
"Please make several copies of this letter," he said to his secretary, Conrad Chenoweth, "they must be sent by morning. I think I will retire early to-night, as I am tired."
A stout Dutchman was stationed outside the door of the Prince's bedchamber, for there had already been several attempts upon the life of Orange.
After a short time the Prince reappeared in the doorway. "Chenoweth," he said, "I am unaccountably nervous to-night. Would you mind bringing your writing in here? I shall quickly fall asleep if my faithful friend is near."
Accordingly, Conrad complied with the Prince's request, and placing a dark screen before the light he began to write. The deep breathing of the Prince soon showed that he was asleep. After a time Conrad heard a strange sound. As the hour was now late, he paused a few moments to rest. As it was no unusual thing for couriers to arrive in the night on urgent business, the young man gave no further heed to the noise. Again it sounded, and nearer this time, and he imagined he could distinguish a stealthy footfall close to his ear. He lowered the lamp-wick and looked about the chamber.
It contained one costly painting, which extended from floor to ceiling, representing the coronation of the fair Jacqueline, that ill-starred heroine of so many Netherland ballads and dramas. In one part of the picture was an assassin, dagger in hand, sent by the Duke of Burgundy to murder his cousin. The gleam of the dying embers in the grate shot forth a lurid, fitful glare, and the light falling on the dagger and on the life-sized figures in the picmade them seem real. To the highly wrought imagination of the young man the scene was once more enacted.
Again he heard that curious, muffled sound, accompanied by a clicking noise. Was he dreaming or not? The picture seemed to move inward like a door! Conrad placed his hand on his trusty sword and watched. Soon he saw the dark face of a man peering cautiously into the room. Reassured by the heavy breathing of the Prince, the man advanced. He was a powerfully built Spaniard, and in his hand was a gleaming dirk.
Conrad saw at a glance that in open contest the ruffian was more than a match for him. There was little time to consider what was the best mode of procedure. He waited until the assassin was well inside the room, and was creeping stealthily toward the bed, when he suddenly sprang upon him with his sword, at the same time calling loudly upon the night watchman. The Spaniard uttered an oath, and struck at Conrad with his dagger. The young man sank to the floor unconscious. The sentinel was in the room, however, together with several others, who had heard the noise of the scuffle, and the villain was soon bound.
William, aroused by the noise, sprang to Conrad's side.
"Has my faithful friend sacrificed his life to save mine?" he said.
Placing his hand over the young man's heart, he felt a faint pulsation. He ordered him to be laid on the bed, and a surgeon was soon in attendance. He declared that the wound was not necessarily fatal, but had the dagger entered the side a fraction of an inch lower down it would have found the heart.
William now looked at his would-be assassin. "Why do you hate me so?" he said, with more of sorrow in his tones than anger. "I have never done you any harm!"
"I neither hate nor love you!" replied the Spaniard. "I was in a sore strait for money, and Monseigneur Ryder offered me four hundred ducats if I would do this job. Part of this sum he paid me in advance, and I was to have received the remainder to-morrow when I returned to Brussels."
"Take the prisoner and lock him up securely for the night," said the Prince, "but see that he is treated kindly. To-morrow we will decide what is best to do with him."
The guard obeyed reluctantly. They desired to execute the fellow on the spot, before he did any more mischief, but William's commands were final.
The next morning found Conrad Chenoweth much improved. The Prince sent for the soldier who had charge of the prisoner, and said, "Let him go his way. He has not committed murder, and I do not wish to deprive a man of life when he is but the irresponsible tool of others."
The soldier began to argue in favor of a speedy execution, but William answered him kindly but decidedly, "If I can forgive this man certainly you ought to be able to do so. Obey my command!"
Greatly to the surprise of the Spaniard, he was simply escorted to the boundaries of the town and told that it meant instant death for him to so much as show his head in the place again.
This occurrence was soon banished from the minds of all by the return of Reynold Van Straalen, who brought the sad news that the Spanish troops had laid siege to Leyden.