Front matter (continued 2)

With that he stabbed his deadly enemy through the neck with a long knife.

In the meantime the other Genoans, who had not saved themselves by running away, had also been killed. The skirmish on the Andrea Doria was now at an end and already the sea beggars were busy loosening the chains which bound the ship to the quayside.

Myga van Bergen lay prostrate in the cabin in the arms of Jan who now carried his betrothed out of that terrible room, away from the proximity of the dead body of Antonio Valani up into the freedom of the upper air.

Fighting was still going on on one of the sea-going vessels that had fallen to the Dutch, but already some of her crew were sliding into the water, pushed there by the hands of sea beggars and fiercely and harmoniously the song of the victors resounded through the night:

William of Nassau, I am of German blood. Faithful to my fatherland I shall remain till death.

The black galley's bugler from the stern of the Andrea Doria was now blowing the same tune townwards and, revelling in the chorus, the galley's victorious crew sang for all they were worth:

That you are by the Spaniards, Oh Netherlands of mine, Harmed and injured, just to think, It makes my poor heart bleed.

Even mortally wounded beggars who could no longer sing sat up on the ground, washed over by these harmonious and solemn sounds, and moved their lips in time with the words of the song. Myga van Bergen too was recalled by them to life and she sang, laughing and crying, held in Jan's arms, the same song of freedom.

"Look, Myga, how I keep my word—I'm taking you home with the sounds of cannon fire and jubilant bells and a flourish of trumpets in my ear! Saved! Saved from a fate worse than death!" Jan Norris was ecstatic.

From the citadel there came the noise of one alarm signal after another. More and more drums sprang into life along the city's walls and enclosures to call as many people as possible to the quayside. And the movements of the great Flanders town became noisier too and many an oppressed and angry heart beat faster at the proud, forbidden sounds that rose in response to the Spanish drumbeats and that grew more insistent as the latter strove to drown them out. Alarm bells rang from every steeple. And now there was a commotion in the town and another commotion emanating out from the citadel towards the quayside. Troops moved along the city walls. Troops pushed down to the river.

But louder than anything there arose above the tumult:

My hope and my protection Are you, oh God, my Lord. On you I want to build more. Never let me go. That I may nurture piety And serve you all the while By driving out all tyrants Who wound my loving heart.

Thousands of such hearts heard behind the walls that Paciotti had built around the town of Antwerp these strains with delight. Thousands of eyes became moist on hearing their message.

Now there could be no doubt of it. The black galley had performed its finest feat of arms and all that there was left to do now was to bring its prize to a place of safety. Under covering fire from the black galley Jan Norris, now captain on board the Andrea Doria, reached the middle of the Scheldt and gradually sailed downstream. Seven smaller vessels taken as prizes sailed along with the beggars' ships—the black galley brought up the rear.

There was much shooting and firing from the walls of Antwerp and a return of fire from the beggars' ships and the Andrea Doria was now sailing downstream under the beggars' colours, its sails joyously expanded by the morning wind. Don Federigo Spinola was tearing his hair out at such an unheard of thing!

There was passing fire from all the earthworks and forts along the river.

Fortune smiled on the beggars! What affair was it of theirs if the Spaniards aimed well or badly? The wounded below deck, the dead overboard, the black galley's cannons were in action once again before Fort Felipe. Boom, boom. Kruisschanze on the Brabant side of the river.

Now, you men of Holland, look to your laurels, for the last bolt, but also the strongest, needs to be drawn back.

Down there in the morning mist lies Fort Liefkenhoek.

Down there in the morning mist lies Fort Lillo.

Now, you beggars, take up your weapons, whoever among you still has the use of his hands and his feet.

Beggars' luck! Beggars' luck!

All was in readiness in Fort Liefkenhoek, for the commander of the fort had had time enough to give out his orders well in advance. Captain Jeronimo had woken him at two o'clock in the morning.

"Well, what is it?" the colonel had asked, and the old veteran had shrugged his shoulders and said: "It may be a mutiny at Fort Callao, it may be an uprising in Antwerp, but I'd like you to come to the battlements anyway, sir." Reluctantly the commander had appeared on the south-eastern bastion of his fort and listened for a long time. A quarter of an hour later the drummer had once again summoned the garrison to the walls, and an hour later the captain had said: "If I were you, sir, I'd have all of tonight's sentries shot."

How long had the cannon fire lasted along the Scheldt? It was no wonder that everything for the reception of the black galley had been best prepared at Fort Liefkenhoek!

Captain Jeronimo paced darkly up and down before his company and, as the firing came nearer, he glowered all the more as was his wont. He had played the game so long that he had grown weary of it—no, not weary!—, it had become as indifferent to him as breathing. So Captain Jeronimo had merely shrugged his shoulders when a messenger on horseback had ridden overland from Fort Pearl bringing the first detailed account of what had happened on the river near Antwerp. How grimly his comrades had borne themselves, but the old soldier who had served under the Dukes of Alba, Requesens and Farnese had merely turned his back on the messenger and walked back to his company.

"And do they still think they can force this people into compliance with them?" he mumbled to himself. "How long already have they been burying the cream of Spain's youth, the core of its strength in this muddy ground? I pity my poor fatherland."

The cannon in front of Kruisschanze had interrupted his monologue. In the morning mist it was starting to softly snow. It was now no longer possible to see three feet ahead of one.

"Yes, yes," the old soldier mumbled to himself, "fire blindly at them! Listen. There it is again, that damned tune, the funeral dirge for the might and land of Spain. Save your powder. You'll not destroy them with it. Yes, that's right, shoot. Their song sounds all the clearer for it! We all of us know it off by heart now."

Through the cannon fire and the blare of Dutch trumpets Captain Jeronimo hummed to himself:

I am a prince of Orange, Unharmed up until now, Who has the king of Spain Always allowed his due.

He had not got to the end of this ditty when a cannonball landed in the midst of his company right next to him and six men were killed by it or knocked to the ground wounded. This cannonball had come from the Andrea Doria. Jan Norris had opened fire as he sailed past Fort Liefkenhoek. The fort's cannon answered immediately in the most uncompromising fashion without, however, causing the beggars any significant harm.

On the deck of the Andrea Doria Myga van Bergen stood next to her betrothed. Her eyes were sparkling. What did Spanish cannonballs matter to her? Above the couple's heads the beggars' flag fluttered victoriously and Spinola's standard lay torn under their feet.

"Another broadside, lads, that's the way! Fire, fire, fire in honour of my Myga!" shouted Jan Norris, waving his hat. "There goes the top gallant mast overboard! Never mind, Myga, my sweet! Clear water! Clear water! Listen to how the black galley is surging ahead before Fort Lillo! Sultan before Pope! Clear water! Empty sea! Sweetest Myga, fair and lovely bride, how much I love you!"

"Oh Jan, Jan, never was a bride won so proudly! What great things you have done for me!"

"What things?" laughed Jan Norris. "I merely struck down a foreign ship's officer and bundled overboard the body of a foreign captain. The black galley rescued both of us. Long live the black galley!"

"Long live the black galley!" cheered the crew of the Andrea Doria and, further on to starboard, the black ship itself thundered a riposte, sailing on under the walls of Fort Lillo.

"Leave me be," said Captain Jeronimo to his comrades, who wanted to take him below from the ramparts. "Let me die in the open air. I'll die happier. God be with you, comrades. God be with you all. Look after yourselves. All I can see are young and youthful faces around me. Comrades, I wish you more luck than was granted to Spain's former army here. We did our duty. Dig for us on the battlefield of Jemmingen, in Mockerheide, near Gembloers and Antwerp. It is not to our dishonour that we still occupy the same piece of ground. God be with you, comrades. The old army is going to its grave. God be with you and with Spain forever. Poor Spain!"

Captain Jeronimo was dead, and the officers and soldiers of Fort Liefkenhoek's garrison surrounded him in silence.

The noise of cannon fire had died away. All the Dutch ships had gone by the enemy Spanish forts with their sea-borne prize. In the distance the strains of a battle hymn from 1568 were still audible:

Before God I will witness, And all His angel host, That I at all times have The King of Spain despised, Because I have Our Lord, Who dwells in majesty, Obeyed without demur As righteousness decreed.

Towards the open sea these strains continued unabated while the proud sea beggar squadron sailed on with its prize and its bloody wounds and glory slid downstream in a fog that was becoming ever thicker.