"Fill this goblet with golden ducats."
It was soon done, for King Philip had given him five thousand that day.
"Take it, boys, and divide the money among you and toss for the cup! Well do you deserve it. England may be proud of her sons if they are all such as you!"
What wonder that Almoral, Count Egmont, was the hero, the darling, almost the demi-god of those who served under his banner.
This was the bright and glittering side of war. Alas! how little men recked of the desolation, death, despair and destruction it caused! How little thought they in Egmont's tent that night of the unburied dead whose cold bodies lay on the blood-stained battlefield of St. Quentin! How little of the broken hearts, the shattered hopes, the desolate homes in the fair regions of sunny France when the news of that fatal day should be borne to the humiliated but proud nation!
The next day the Spanish camp resounded with the preparations for the renewed siege of St. Quentin. Fresh batteries were thrown up on all sides on which the artillery, captured from the French, was planted, and, ere many hours had passed, a furious cannonade burst forth upon the crumbling fortifications of the doomed city. Mines were planted, and galleries excavated almost to the very centre of St. Quentin.
Yet no thought of surrender occupied the valiant heart of Admiral Coligni!
It was at this point that his heroism and devotion to duty reached its height. He knew that the hopes of France depended upon the city being held till succour came, till the conquering army under Guise could arrive!
The able-bodied men of his garrison numbered but eight hundred, and these were half-starved and well-nigh worn out by incessant exertion.