The long sand-dunes about the village of Scheveningen were covered with spectators to the number of several thousands, comprising nearly the entire population of The Hague, several strangers, refugees from other parts of Holland, and many French, German, and English; they were principally women, children, and old men, or those in the sober attire of merchants, clerks, servants, or shopkeepers.
One single object seemed to animate these people; they were all utterly silent, and all directed their gaze in one direction—that of the sea.
There, covering the entire sweep of water and obscuring the great horizon itself, rode that huge armament which contained the whole strength of the Republic, and on which was staked her hopes and her safety.
This fleet had weighed anchor during the stillness of the previous night; a few hours after the wind had turned to the south and so brought all the ships on the north coast, where, for half a day, they had been in full view of The Hague.
The weather was still and warm, the sky a sunny blue, and the long stretches of the dunes touched from their usual greyness to a gold look. Towards afternoon a fine mist rose shimmering from the sea and gave a curious unreal flatness to the naval pageantry, as if it was some magnificent vision painted between sea and sky.
Without speaking, save in short whispers to each other, without moving, save to change their places by a few steps, the people continued to gaze at the gorgeous spectacle, the like of which no living man had been able to see before.
There were no less than sixty-five great ships of wars, splendid vessels rising high above the waves, with much gold on them, seventy vessels of burden in attendance on them and five hundred transports.
These ships carried five thousand cavalry and ten thousand infantry of the magnificent Dutch army, the six British regiments in the employ of the States, the French Protestants formed into a regiment by the Prince after the Edict of Nantz was revoked, and the whole artillery of every town in the Republic, which had been left stripped of all defences save twelve ships of war and the German troops on the Rhine frontier.
The immobile, silent effect of this great and terrible fleet, spreading for miles and representing the entire strength of a vast maritime power, making little progress and waiting for the wind, wrought a kind of exaltation in the hearts of the spectators, all of whom felt their fortunes dependent on the success of this enterprise, and most of whom had friends and relations on board, or in England, whose lives were now at the hazard.
But no dread of personal loss or discomfiture, no fear for those dear to them, could equal the grand swell of pride the Dutch felt at beholding the magnificence of the Republic they had built up out of blood and tears, the power of the Religion they had preserved through perils and agonies inconceivable, and which had now grown, from a little feeble spark, to a torch to illume half the world.