Snarleyyow, or, the Dog Fiend

by Frederick Marryat

"Was here yesterday, and fully convinced me that Vanslyperken was a traitor, and that she was innocent. His Grace of Portland was present."

"Well, my lord, you may give orders for their release; of course a little surveillance will be advisable. You will justify the proceedings to the council, this afternoon."

"But may I presume to submit to your Majesty, that the public affront offered to the syndic should be repaired."

"Certainly--send for him," replied his Majesty, carelessly. "I will receive him to-morrow morning," and his Majesty left the room.

Lord Albemarle immediately despatched a courier with an order for the release of the syndic and the Frau Vandersloosh, with a note to the former, stating that his Majesty would receive him on the following day at noon. But while this act of justice had been preparing at the palace of the Hague, there were other acts, not quite so justifiable performing at the town of Amsterdam.

The sun made its appearance more than an hour, before the troops of the royal Guard. Mobs were collected in knots in the street, and in front of the Hotel de Ville, or Stadt House, and the object of their meeting, was to canvas the treason and imprisonment of the syndic, Mynheer Van Krause. "Shame--shame,"--"Death to the traitor,"--"Tear him to pieces,"--and "Long life to King William," were the first solitary remarks made--the noise and hubbub increased. The small knots of people gradually joined together, until they formed a large mob, all burning with loyalty, and each individual wishing to give a practical evidence of it--again were the cries of "Long live the King!" and "Death to traitors!" to be heard, with loud huzzas. A confused din followed, and the mob appeared, as if simultaneously, to be all impelled in one direction. At last the word was given, which they all waited for. "To his house--to his house--down with it--death to the traitor!" and the loyal mob hastened on, each individual eager to be first to prove his loyalty, by helping himself to Mynheer Krause's goods and chattels.

In the low countries, this species of loyalty always has been, and is now very much the fashion. In ten minutes, the gates were forced open--old Koop knocked down, and trod under foot till he was dead--every article of value that was portable, was secured; chairs, tables, glasses, not portable, were thrown out of the window; Wilhelmina's harp and pianoforte battered to fragments; beds, bedding, everything flew about in the air, and then the fragments of the furniture were set fire to, and in less than an hour Mynheer Krause's splendid house was burning furiously, while the mob cheered and cried, "Long live King William!"

Before the courier could arrive from the Hague, all that was left of Mr Krause's property was the bare walls. Merchandises, everything was consumed, and part of the building had fallen into the canal and choked it up, while fifteen schuyts waiting to be discharged of their cargoes had been obliged to retreat from the fury of the flames, the phlegmatic skippers looking on with their pipes in their mouths, and their hands in their wide breeches-pockets.

The loyal mob having effected their object, gradually retired. It is singular, that popular feeling is always expressed in the same way. Had the mob collected for disloyal purposes, they would have shown their disloyalty just in the like manner, only it would have been the Stadt House instead of that of Mynheer Krause.

But now there was a fresh impetus given to the feelings of the mob. The news had been spread like wildfire, that Mynheer the syndic had been proved innocent, and ordered to be immediately liberated, and was sent for by his Majesty; upon which, the mob were undecided, whether they should prove their indignation, at this unjust imprisonment of their worthy magistrate, by setting fire to some public building, or by carrying him in triumph to his own house, which they forgot they had burnt down. Fortunately they decided upon the latter, they surrounded the Stadt House with cries of "Long life to our worthy syndic--prosperity to Mynheer Krause," and rushing up stairs, they caught him in their arms, and carried him triumphantly through the streets bringing him at last to the smoking ruins of his own house, and there they left him; they had done all they could, they had carried him there in triumph, but, as for building the house up again, that was impossible; so, as Mynheer Krause looked with dismay at the wreck of all his property, the loyal mob dispersed, each feeling that he had been a little too hasty in possessing himself of a small share of it. What a fine thing is loyalty! Mynheer Krause found himself alone; he looked with scorn and indignation upon the scene of violence, and then walked away to an hotel, particularly disgusted with the loyal cry of "Long live King William."