CHAPTER XVIII
THE DAWN OF OCTOBER THIRD
Gysbert rowed away frantically from the scene of destruction. He had not, for the moment, the slightest idea what direction he was taking, but his mind was actively at work. The wall of Leyden had fallen in for the space of nearly a quarter of a mile! If the Spaniards had the faintest suspicion of this, he reasoned, they would flock immediately to the scene, and make an easy and terrible entrance. There was no defending the breach from the inside, for the brave, but hunger-enfeebled corps of John Van der Does would be as nothing before the fierce thousands of the Spanish army. To his mind there remained but one course,—he must in some way get word to Admiral Boisot and his Sea Beggars, and let them make an entrance into the city before the Spaniards got wind of the disaster.
With this end in view he looked about him, ascertained as nearly as he could the position of the fleet, and commenced to row steadily in that direction. As he drew near the Fortress of Lammen, however, he became aware that something very strange was taking place. Wonderingly he shipped his oars and turned about to watch the curious sight. Myriads of tiny lights twinkled across the dark waste of waters. There was almost no sound, but only a vague impression that something mysterious was happening. After a time the lights formed themselves into a long procession which seemed to flit steadily across the one remaining causeway that led to the Hague.
The boy sat breathless, eager, marvelling at this apparently never-ending procession of lights, twinkling in single file over what seemed the very face of the water. For a time he could find no explanation for this singular spectacle, till all at once the truth flashed on him. The Spaniards were retreating! Under cover of darkness, they were silently sneaking away, fleeing panic-stricken from the unknown terror of that hideous sound in the night,—fleeing like cowards at the very moment when fortune had rendered their entrance to the coveted city as easy as stepping over a log!
Truly had God's providence operated in a marvellous manner! At the crash of the falling wall, the terrified citizens of Leyden believed that the Spaniards had at last effected their entrance in some horrible way. The Spanish, on the other hand, felt certain that the citizens were making a final, desperate sortie. And between this new danger on one side, and the fierce Sea Beggars and the inward-surging ocean on the other, they deemed retreat to be their only course, short of complete extermination, and they fled away in the night.
For two hours Gysbert sat in his little boat and watched the retreat. In all the city of Leyden or its environments, he was the only soul that night who was aware of the true state of affairs. At length the last few straggling lights disappeared, and all was silence and darkness. When he was convinced that a nearer approach was safe, he rowed slowly toward Fort Lammen, reconnoitering carefully at almost every yard. But the nearer he drew, the plainer it became that the fort was absolutely deserted. Boldly landing at the foot of the battlement, he entered at the cannon-defended gate, and found the enclosure empty. Colonel Borgia and his troops had fled so hastily that even some of their time-honored battle-flags were left behind!
Gysbert was not content, however, with ascertaining only the condition of Lammen. It was quite possible that the retreating army had halted at Leyderdorp, the headquarters of Valdez, half a mile away. Now that he was about it, he concluded that he might as well investigate there before daylight. Again pushing off his boat, he paddled across the shallow lake that now spread over what was ordinarily meadow-land. But Leyderdorp was also deserted. Guided by a dying camp-fire, he reached a small building which he guessed to be the abode of General Valdez. The fire was built before the doorway, and over it was still cooking a pot of "hodge-podge" or stewed meat and vegetables. Evidently it had been intended for the breakfast of the general, but so speedy had been the retreat that it was left behind in the hurry.
"Whew!" ejaculated Gysbert, leaning over the pot. "This smells right savory to a stomach that has had nothing to-day but half a water-soaked loaf! Thanks, my cowardly friends! I'll partake of your bounty before I do another thing!" Swinging the pot from its hook, and scarcely waiting for it to cool, he helped himself to a large quantity doled out with a great iron spoon, and ate as only a half-starved, healthy boy can eat, till he could hold no more.
Hunger satisfied, he proceeded to investigate the fleeing general's quarters. By the dying fire-light he could discern several maps of Leyden and the outlying districts pinned about the walls, and on the table lay a scrap of paper hastily written upon. Gysbert took it out to the fire, coaxed the embers into a blaze, and kneeling over the flames tried to decipher the writing. It was in Latin, and very poor Latin at that, and was plainly the General's farewell to the city. Gysbert had been for over a year studying this language in school, so he was able to construe its meaning fairly well.