CHAPTER XXXVI.
THE PRINCE TO THE RESCUE.
On board the flotilla, manned by Admiral Boisot and eight hundred bold Zealanders, who neither gave nor received quarter, the sailors watched with eager interest the condition of the clouds and the waves.
It was now a week since the great dyke had been pierced, and the rise of the waters was stayed. The flotilla remained motionless, having accomplished but two out of the fifteen miles which separated it from the starving city. The wind remained easterly, which was unfavorable. The waters fell to a depth of nine inches, and it required eighteen or twenty inches to float the vessels.
A gale arose, however, and for three days and nights the wind blew from the northwest. The waters rose rapidly, and the vessels passed all the barriers until they reached North Aa, where they were stopped by the dyke called the Kirk-way. The gale had now subsided, and the wind once more changed to easterly.
The sailors were frantic at their enforced idleness. The pitiful messages which the carrier pigeons brought them made them utter wanton curses. Leyden was sublime in her despair. She had resolved to die rather than surrender to the Spaniard.
The Prince of Orange, but just on his feet from a severe illness and hardly convalescent, insisted on accompanying Admiral Boisot to the succor of the beleaguered city. His physicians implored him to stay away from that plague-stricken spot, but the noble Prince replied, "I am in the hands of God. If He has ordained me to perish, be it so! My duty is with my suffering people." He rebuked the sailors for their profanity, and inspired fresh confidence by his mere presence.
Admiral Boisot and the Prince paced the deck.
"If the spring-tide now to be expected should not come immediately, and with it a strong and favorable wind, this expedition will shortly have to be abandoned," said the Admiral.
"I have seen many hours as dark as this," replied William, "but I have never lost my faith in the sovereign goodness of God. If Leyden falls, all is lost. Victory for Spain means a victory for Rome. It means the triumph of the Inquisition and of priestly tyranny. Victory for the Netherlands means liberty of conscience, an unchained Bible, free thought. It has seemed to many as though God was deaf to the cries of His children, —that He holds aloof from the petty affairs of earth. But I still believe that He ruleth in the heavens, and that He will give to every man and to every nation according to their works."
As if to ratify this sublime faith, that very night a violent equinoctial storm blew from the southwest. The waters of the North Sea piled up against the coast of Holland, and the sea rode triumphantly over the ruined dykes. On swept the fleet, borne aloft on the great waves.
The Spaniards, seeing that the ocean now favored these sturdy Dutchmen, fled precipitately from their forts in the night, and in the morning a death-like stillness prevailed where the Admiral had expected a salvo of artillery.
The silence was sickening. Both the Prince and Boisot suspected treachery, and the fleet was anchored at a respectful distance from the frowning fortress. The watchman at length espied a solitary boy, who had climbed to the summit of the fort, and leaning over the narrow parapet waved his cap and cheered.
In an instant the Prince grasped the situation.
"Admiral Boisot," he said impressively, "last night you doubted the goodness of God. The Spaniards far outnumbered us, and perhaps would have ruined this enterprise had they been permitted. But God, who holds the sea in his hand and who sends the tempest and the mighty wind,
"My children, kneel not to me." Page 267.
With a mighty cheer the flotilla was borne to the very gates of the starving city. The quays were lined with famished men, women and children. Loaves of bread were flung from the vessels into the midst of the crowd. The Prince and the Admiral stepped ashore, and the great throng of gaunt, wasted creatures, with tears and with prayers of thanksgiving, knelt in the streets before their noble deliverer.
The tears rolled down William's cheeks as he saw how these brave citizens had suffered. Then he said with love and tenderness:
"My children, kneel not to me, but to the heavenly Prince who has enabled you to endure to the end. Let us return thanks to God."
A solemn procession was formed, and all that famished throng who were able to walk, together with the Prince, the Admiral, and the fierce Zealand sailors, repaired to the church, where the Prince gave thanks to God for this signal proof of his love and goodness. Then a hymn was raised, but only a line had been sung in weak, trembling voices, when the great congregation gave way to tears, but they were tears of joy.
Then loaves of bread were distributed—bread, the staff of life—the manna in the wilderness—God's unfailing gift to men, bread in abundance!
Dr. Chenoweth was the only one able to leave his home and represent his household at this impressive service. He quickly returned, bearing the precious loaves of bread, and better yet, he was accompanied by his son and Reynold Van Straalen.
Conrad took his beloved wife in his arms, but not a word did either of them speak. There is a kind of joy which expresses itself either by an eloquent silence or by tears.
"Where is Katharine?" asked Colonel Van Straalen.
Dr. Chenoweth led the way into the chamber where the young wife still lay battling for life. The fever flush had faded from her cheek, but her pulse was failing, and she had lain for hours in a stupor.
"Speak to her!" said Dr. Chenoweth, as the anguished husband knelt by the bedside, and with rigid, stony face gazed at the sick girl.
"Katharine! My love!" he cried, in tones piercing and tremulous with agony.
The sound of that voice roused the sleeper. She uttered a deep sigh, and the blue-veined eyelids quivered for an instant.
"Katharine! Speak to me!" The large, wistful eyes opened.
"Reynold!" she whispered, with a look full of content. Then her eyes closed again, but this time it was to fall into a natural slumber.
"Thank God, she is saved!" said Dr. Chenoweth.
For hours Katharine slept, rousing at intervals, when a strong stimulant was administered. When she finally awoke from this refreshing slumber she found her husband still by her side.
"My precious wife," said Colonel Van Straalen, "God has spared us to each other. We shall yet thank him and serve him together."
Prince William remained a few days in Leyden, stimulating and encouraging the people.
"We have had the honor," he said, "of doing what no nation ever did before us: we have defended and maintained ourselves, unaided, in so small a country, against the tremendous efforts of such powerful enemies. So long as the poor inhabitants of Holland, though deserted by all the world, hold firm, it will cost the Spaniards the half of Spain in money and men before they can make an end of us."
To this heroic and loyal city the Prince offered as a reward for their fidelity the choice of two things: perpetual exemption from taxation, or the founding of a university, which should be known as the University of Leyden.
To their lasting credit, be it said that the Dutch citizens of Leyden chose the latter gift; and as soon as they had recovered their health, and to some degree their former prosperity, a gala day, garnished by stately processions, martial music and ornate speeches, inaugurated the founding of this historic seat of learning.
Holland, Zealand and Friesland were now united, and an assembly of delegates, meeting in November, 1574, implored William to assume absolute control of these estates, under whatever title he pleased—either governor, king or emperor.
The Prince of Orange accepted this honor, although he resolutely put aside the diadem which the Congress of Delft offered him. It was enough for him to be recognized as the Father of his country. The title, "Father William," by which he was universally known, pleased him best. He cared nothing for mere titles of honor. He was absorbed in the greater question as to how best he might uplift his nation.
Upon only one question did the Prince issue peremptory commands. He insisted that there should be no persecution of the Roman Catholics in those provinces under his control. "My purpose," he said, "is to strangle the Spanish Inquisition, not to institute a Protestant Inquisition for the suppressing of those who differ from us in matters of conscience. I will never meddle with a man's religious thoughts. They are between himself and his God."