CHAPTER XXXV.
SHUT IN.
Leyden was one of the most beautiful cities in the Netherlands. It was situated on a tributary of the river Rhine, and was interlaced with canals, upon whose sides were rows of stately poplar and lime trees. The houses were elegant, the public buildings imposing and substantial, the streets wide, and public gardens and squares numerous. The pastures reclaimed from the ocean were filled with sleek cattle, and the kitchen gardens and the orchards bore witness to the thrift and prosperity of the people.
"Leyden is besieged!" was the startling announcement which Dr. Chenoweth brought to his little household one morning. "The Spaniards have surrounded us with a cordon of forts and redoubts!"
The faces of the women blanched. The Spanish army lay between them and their dear ones. The Prince of Orange would therefore be powerless to aid them. "Is all lost?" said Madam Chenoweth, in faltering tones.
"No!" said her husband. "All is not lost so long as there is an almighty arm above to defend us and Prince William lives. I shall never despair while that noble man is alive. He has sent a message to the citizens of Leyden, saying that if they can hold out three months he will rescue them."
The people were strong and courageous, and stimulated by the heroic conduct of their military commandant, John Van der Does, they fully resolved to resist all overtures on the part of the enemy and to trust to the word of the Prince.
A liberally-baited trap in the form of a gracious amnesty was presented the city by the Grand Commander Requesens. The sole condition of mercy was to return to the mother Church.
"As long as there is a man left in Leyden we will contend for our liberty and our religion," was the reply of the people.
The only two persons in Leyden who availed themselves of the offer of pardon were a brewer and the son of a refugee pedler.
The garrison within the city consisted of a small corps of volunteers and five companies of burghers. Fierce combats and sorties occurred daily, and many shells were thrown into the city, causing terrible havoc. The culverines from the bastions of the forts belched forth their message of defiance and death. But there was no time for tears. All able-bodied persons were needed to render assistance.
Madam Chenoweth accompanied her husband to the hospital and even to the ramparts, where she moved about quietly, heedless of the rain of bullets as though they had been snowflakes, while she tenderly assisted her husband in the care of the wounded.
The brave women of Leyden rendered valuable service. Strong Frisian arms trundled wheelbarrows filled with stones to repair the breaches in the wall, or melted pitch for the burning hoops, which they hurled into the midst of their assailants, or loaded muskets and helped to remove the wounded to a place of safety.
The city was full of lamentation. There were few households that escaped the horrors of the siege. There was no "beacon height of lonely suffering" here. One touch of nature had made all Leyden akin.
Hilvardine Chenoweth took charge of the orphan children who had flocked into the city from Haarlem just before the siege. Katharine assisted in the hospital, where her sweet face and gentle words administered comfort to the sufferers. She had developed a courage foreign to her nature. As with the wife of one of the Frisian martyrs, "fear seemed to have fallen from her like a garment." There were few who spoke such words of power to the dying. Under the light of a pure gospel her whole nature seemed at rest.
But while the bloody hand of war held the city in its grasp, another grim foe threatened Leyden, namely, famine. The city had been but scantily stocked with provisions at the outset, and the citizens had immediately been put upon short rations. Two of the three months allotted them by the Prince had now expired. Bread was a thing of the past, and malt cakes were used as a substitute. Horse-flesh was the only meat available, and of these provisions only a scanty allowance was apportioned each one.
From his bed of sickness in Rotterdam, where the Prince of Orange languished with a fever, the devoted patriot dictated encouraging messages, which were delivered to the citizens of Leyden either by carrier pigeons or by swift couriers, called "jumpers."
"We are straining every nerve to help you," he wrote. "All Holland is exerting herself to save you. An army can accomplish nothing in your extremity. Our hope is from the sea."
The Prince held the cities of Delft and Rotterdam, and between these the fortress of Polderwaert. This gave him control of the dykes in this vicinity. William felt confident that the only salvation for Leyden lay in piercing the dykes and flooding the country about the besieged city. Leyden was not on the ocean, but the ocean could be brought to Leyden. He therefore pierced the dykes in sixteen places, and likewise ordered the sluices at Rotterdam, Schiedam and Delfthaven opened.
"Better a drowned land than a conquered land!" cried the sturdy patriots, as they saw their fruitful orchards and growing crops overwhelmed by the flood. A fleet of vessels was prepared and stocked with provisions, which should be brought to the succor of Leyden as soon as the waters were high enough to float the ships.
Starvation now stared the people of Leyden in the face. Malt cake and horse-flesh were both consumed. Only a few dried biscuit remained, and such remnants of vegetation as would have been repugnant to the human palate in days of plenty.
Another tempting offer of peace was held out by the Spaniards. But the poor sufferers, with pinched faces and skeleton frames, cried out, "We will not surrender!" They remembered Naarden and Haarlem, and they refused to believe the fair speech of the enemy.
Another pitiful despatch was sent the Prince: "We have kept our promise. We have held out two months with food and one month without food. In a few days we shall all be dead."
The cheering announcement came back that the waters were rapidly rising, and about Leyden they had reached the depth of ten inches, and were seriously inconveniencing the enemy. As if to mock the misery of the people, the plague broke out in the city and swept away thousands.
Dr. Chenoweth's family had all survived, but the unflagging zeal of Katharine Van Straalen had finally brought on a fever, and it seemed hardly possible that she could survive. No one would have recognized the hollow faces in this home, as changed were they by want and suffering. Every day Dr. Chenoweth went to the round tower in the centre of the city to look out over the country and to note if the sea was coming to bring them deliverance.
The waters rose but slowly. The taunting cries of the Spaniards reached the ears of the citizens, "Where is your Prince? Where are the waters which are going to cover the dry land? If the Prince promised to pluck the stars from heaven or to stay the march of the sun and moon, you poor fools would believe it."
The discouraged watchers in the tower of Hengist began to lose faith in both God and man.
"Oh!" cried Madam Chenoweth, "for one hour of the east wind which flooded Friesland and swept so many homes from the face of the earth!"
Old Lysken, who had been a tower of strength in this little household, at last succumbed to disease.
"Do not weep for me!" she said to her beloved mistress. "Old Lysken is too feeble to smooth her lady's hair or to make the frocks for the child. She is worn out. There will be one less mouth to feed, one less to drain your scanty hoard. I shall soon be in that city where the inhabitant shall never say 'I am sick,' or 'I am hungry.' You should rejoice and not weep!"
And little Elizabeth! The rounded cheeks grew painfully hollow, the blue eyes were sunken, and one morning she could not be awakened to the dreary noises of earth. This pure white lily had floated to the sands of the eternal shore.
The watchman in the tower brought the news that the fleet had reached the Land Scheiding, a dyke within five miles of Leyden, but at this point its progress was arrested.
The famished crowd who waited for tidings gave a cry of execration at this announcement. Then they went to the house of the Burgomaster, Adrian Van der Werf, and demanded that he should surrender.
The Burgomaster came to the door in response to this appeal. He was a gaunt, wasted man, but there was a look of dauntless courage in his eyes.
"Friends," he said, "my life is at your disposal. Take my sword, plunge it into my body, and divide my flesh among you. I can die but once, and whether by your hand or by God's hand I care not. Your threats move me not. Starvation is better than a dishonorable capitulation. I shall not surrender!"
These heroic words calmed the starving wretches, who again renewed their pledges of fealty, and then dispersed.